Ruthless Contract

‘Hours. I was surprised to find everyone in bed.’

Abigail shrugged. ‘I think we were all just glad to see the end of today. Your mother looked shattered.’

‘Mmm. She hasn’t been too well. Really she could do with going back to her own apartment for some peace and quiet, but I’m loath to suggest it in case she thinks she’s not welcome here. She has bad arthritis, you know. Usually at this time of year she goes down to Florida for some sun.’

Abigail nodded. Jenny had told her a long time ago that Margaret’s health wasn’t good. ‘Well, now that I’m here there is no reason why she shouldn’t go.’

Greg’s eyebrow lifted. ‘I thought you were going home in a few weeks?’ he said, then added drily, ‘Children are very demanding you know—very hard work.’

Abigail didn’t care for the edge to his tone but right at this moment she didn’t have the energy to take him up on it. ‘I do realise that,’ she said flatly.

‘Will coffee do?’ Greg held up the glass coffee-pot from the hotplate beside where he had been working. ‘It is fresh. I made it a short while ago.’

‘Thanks.’ She watched silently as he took out a cup and saucer from the sideboard and poured the strong liquid.

‘Black, one sugar—right?’ he asked.

She nodded, surprised that he should remember. Probably a lucky guess, she decided grimly. Her hand trembled as she reached across to take the cup from him. Her nerves were in chaos. Seeing Rachel so upset had stretched emotional strings inside her even further. She felt as if all the nerve-endings inside her body were being wrenched tighter and tighter and she was hanging on to them with a kind of grim desperation. She couldn’t break now, especially in front of Greg.

‘It will get better, you know.’

Greg’s gentle voice sent her eyes flying to meet his.

‘I know I sounded somewhat sarcastic when I spoke yesterday about time healing things—but it does, you know. After a while we will be able to think about Jen and Mike without the pain. We will think of them and remember the good times and be able to smile.’

Abigail stared up at him. It was strange, but something about that low, soothing tone made her want just to fold into his arms. A shiver of apprehension raced down her spine and she glanced quickly away from him. No matter how enormous her grief, she could never let her guard down in front of Greg…No matter how softly he spoke she must always remember what kind of a man he was. They were united in their grief—that was all.

She turned away to sit down in one of the large armchairs, curling her feet up under her and sipping her drink in an attempt to calm the emotional flurry of thoughts. ‘I hope to God that you are right,’ she muttered dully. ‘At the moment even happy memories make me want to cry.’

He shrugged and came to sit in the chair opposite her. ‘Then cry,’ he suggested lightly. ‘It’s all part of the healing process.’

Abigail’s eyes moved with contemplation over his handsome features. Had Greg Prescott ever cried a tear in his life? It was hard to imagine. His face held such determination, such strength. Then suddenly she remembered the tortured look on his face when he had held Rachel in his arms, and she felt a wave of guilt. Greg Prescott was many things, but he was not unfeeling where his family was concerned.

She took another sip of her coffee. Any crying she had to do would be done in private. She would never lower any barriers in front of him. She would never lose control around Greg Prescott again.

‘You know…this is a bit like old times.’

That statement sent her gaze winging back to him.

He gave a lop-sided smile. ‘I’m referring to us sitting having a drink, dressed, shall we say, informally.’ His eyes flicked down over the slender lines of her body.

For the first time she was very conscious of her state of undress. Her hand moved self-consciously to the white satin material of her dressing-gown, pulling it closer around her.

He noticed the movement and his lips twisted drily. ‘Don’t worry, I have no desire to pounce on you,’ he grated sardonically.

She felt her cheeks flush at that remark.

He put his coffee down. ‘Apart from anything else, I feel too damned raw inside.’

‘It’s a good job,’ she bit out sharply. ‘Because you wouldn’t get very far.’

His mouth twisted drily. ‘If you say so.’

‘I know so.’

‘If I remember rightly, you used to be quite responsive—quite hot.’ His eyes moved contemplatively over her. ‘We had some good times.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Greg!’ She swallowed the rest of her coffee and nearly choked on the hot liquid. ‘What we had was a fling, and I would prefer it if you didn’t mention it again.’ She clattered the cup and saucer down on the table next to her with a very unsteady hand.

‘You are probably right.’ Although his voice was casual, there was an undercurrent to it that puzzled her.

‘Want another coffee?’ He got up to pour himself one.

‘No, thanks…I would never sleep.’

He came and sat down opposite her again. ‘You can always think of Charles—I’m sure that will help to soothe you to sleep.’

Abigail glared at him. ‘There is no need to be facetious.’

‘Was I being facetious?’ One dark eyebrow lifted in mock innocence. ‘I thought I was making polite conversation.’

‘Like hell you were,’ she grated impatiently.

He leaned further back in his chair and regarded her with a somewhat bleak expression on his hard features. ‘Tell me something,’ he asked suddenly. ‘When Charles asked you to marry him, did he realise you want to bring the girls to live in England with you?’

Abigail had been in the process of getting to her feet, but when Greg asked that question she sat back, instantly alert. ‘Yes, of course he knows.’ Her voice became earnest as she strove to convince him that there was no question of the girls being unwanted. ‘Charles has told me that he has no objections to the girls living with us. He can offer them a good lifestyle and he is a decent, caring man.’