Morelli's Mistress. Anne Mather
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on my case again about me neglecting you,’ he’d retorted, pushing his face close to hers. ‘You stink of alcohol. How many drinks have you had?’
‘Just one,’ Abby had said defensively. She’d refused to count the cocktail, which she’d only tasted. ‘A glass of wine. Hardly in your league, am I?’
She’d barely avoided the hand Harry had raised towards her. ‘Don’t you speak to me like that,’ he’d snarled, and she’d wondered how much longer she could live like this. ‘I asked you a civil question and I expect a civil answer. Or would you like Mummy to hear what an ungrateful girl you are?’
Abby had wrenched her bag away from him. Her mother was too ill to be upset by their troubles. When Abby had seen her the previous day, she’d been shocked by how frail she had become. And Harry knew that. That was why he always used her mother’s health as a lever to get his own way.
Whatever, there was no point in trying to reason with him in this mood. And, in all honesty, she had been feeling guilty. She shouldn’t have let Luke Morelli drive her home.
But for heaven’s sake, she’d done nothing wrong. And it had been so nice for once, just to talk to a man who seemed to enjoy her company; who didn’t treat her like his servant, or worse.
‘So where did you go?’
Abby had been heading for the door, but she should have known Harry wasn’t finished with her yet.
‘Just the Parker House,’ she’d replied, identifying the wine bar. ‘You knew where we were going. I told you before I left.’
‘So you didn’t go on anywhere else?’
‘Um—no.’ But Abby had hesitated, and that had been a mistake.
‘So you did go on somewhere else.’ Harry had been on her in an instant. ‘And you weren’t going to tell me. Why?’
Abby had prayed the heat she could feel in her bones wasn’t filling her cheeks. ‘I didn’t go anywhere else,’ she’d insisted wearily. ‘The others were going on to the Blue Parrot, but I didn’t want to go.’
‘Why not? Had you found someone more interesting at the Parker House?’ Harry’s eyes had bored into hers. ‘If you’ve been with another man—’
‘I haven’t.’ But Abby had felt herself trembling even so. ‘I was tired, that’s all. I wanted to come home.’
‘So how did you get home? I thought they’d hired a minibus.’
‘They did.’ Abby had swallowed. ‘I just—called a taxi.’
‘Good idea.’ Harry had grasped her wrist then, and pulled her into his arms. His own breath had smelt suspiciously sweet, his thick lips nuzzling her neck. ‘I’m tired, too, baby,’ he’d whispered, his hands roaming possessively over her breasts. ‘What say we both go to bed?’
* * *
Luke Morelli sat staring at his laptop computer, studying the webpage that listed all the London universities.
God, there were dozens of them, he saw frustratedly. And he had no idea what kind of research the girl he was looking for had been doing.
He scowled. It was almost a week since he and Ray had visited the wine bar where he’d met Annabel; almost a week since he’d driven her home. He didn’t know why, but he hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind, and it bugged the hell out of him that, although he’d given her his number, she hadn’t bothered to call.
All he knew for certain was that she worked at one of the universities. And that her name was Annabel, although that was open to question, too. The other girls had called her Abs, which was surely short for Abigail. Or Abby, if he wanted to confuse the situation even more.
There was always the chance that if he went back to the wine bar, he’d see her. But she hadn’t struck him as the kind of girl who frequented bars on a regular basis. He knew the building where he’d dropped her off, but there must have been about forty apartments in the block, and he didn’t have a clue as to her surname.
He sighed. He honestly didn’t know what it was about her that intrigued him. She was an attractive girl, yes, tall and slim, with silvery blonde hair that she wore straight to her shoulders. But he’d known a lot of beautiful women, so that wasn’t it.
She had been excessively slim, he mused, remembering how the bones of her shoulders had jutted through her vest when he’d helped her on with her jacket. Yet she hadn’t struck him as the kind of girl who was overly concerned about her looks.
Ray Carpenter came into the office at that moment, pausing to glance over Luke’s shoulder at the computer. ‘What’re you doing, man?’ he asked, peering at the screen.
‘Do you mind?’ Luke cast an impatient look up at his partner. ‘I’m checking something out, that’s all.’
‘Checking something out, or checking someone out?’ suggested Ray shrewdly. ‘You’re looking at a university website, right? Didn’t you tell me that girl you took home the other evening worked at a university?’
Luke’s jaw compressed. ‘What if I did?’
‘Well, I’d say you’re trying to get in touch with her. Where does she work?’
Luke’s scowl deepened. ‘I don’t know.’
Ray gave a snort. ‘But you know where she lives.’
‘I know the block of apartments, but I don’t know which one.’
‘So go look at the list of tenants. They always have lists of tenants in the lobbies of these places, you know that.’
‘Yeah.’
Luke cleared the webpage and closed the laptop. He had no desire to tell Ray that he didn’t even know the girl’s surname.
He’d been so eager not to offend her, he hadn’t even kissed her goodnight.
But he’d wanted to. That luscious mouth of hers had been an almost irresistible temptation. And she’d smelled so good, too; soft feminine scents that had lingered in his car long after he’d dropped her off. Dammit, he thought, he was smitten. And that was something that had never happened to him before.
Thankfully, Ray dropped the subject and their discussion turned to the projects they were currently working on. Ray had spent the day in Milton Keynes. He liked the hands-on approach of checking on the site managers, while Luke had had a meeting with a real-estate agent concerning a property they were interested in buying north of the city.
The Covent Garden office was no longer big enough to accommodate the business. Their team of architects and designers, accountants and sales personnel, and all the usual administrative staff who made up Morelli and Carpenter Development, needed room to expand. It was an intoxicating prospect and Luke was soon distracted by describing the run-down building he’d seen, which they could renovate to their own design.
But later that evening, leaving the office, he couldn’t prevent himself from turning towards Chelsea. It occurred to him, as he drove across Vauxhall Bridge, that the block of apartments where Annabel lived could be categorised as luxurious. Was she wealthier than he’d imagined? Was that why she hadn’t bothered giving him a call. Or did she simply share the apartment with one or two of the girls he’d met the other night?
Which might make finding her address even more difficult.
* * *
Abby was standing at the living-room window, watching the rain trickling down the panes. It was early evening, but it was already getting dark, the overhanging clouds drenching the neat box hedges that surrounded Chandler Court.
Harry had called to say he might be late, but Abby never took anything for granted. He’d been known to make such a statement before, and then turn up half an hour later.
He’d suggested she