Abby stared at him. ‘So—you seriously expect I would be willing to be your mistress?’

      ‘Why not?’

      Luke spoke succinctly, and she clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

      ‘Just because I let you make love to me the last time you were here it doesn’t mean I’ll do it again!’ she retorted angrily, despising herself and him in equal measure.

      ‘Well, forgive me,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Only it’s hard to feel sympathy for a woman who’s cheated on her husband in the past.’

      ‘You know nothing about my marriage to Harry.’

      ‘And I don’t want to know,’ he retorted, reaching for his jacket. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should get out of here.’

      ‘Perhaps you should,’ said Abby, striving for indifference.

      But before Luke could grab his jacket and leave he trailed his strong fingers down her sleeve and flipped them beneath the hem of her shirt. She tried to back away from him, but the temptation of Luke’s touch was too much for her.

      And when his hand spread against her bare midriff, warm and possessive against her soft flesh, every nerve in her body went on high alert. She wanted him to touch her, she admitted despairingly. Her limbs were melting in anticipation of his caress.

      Without giving her a chance to break his hold, he pulled her down onto the sofa again and, pressing her back, covered her body with his.