He asked about her mother, father and grandmother but, notably and thankfully, not Ben. He asked about her former job and where she went to school.
He also shared his history, telling her more about his mother, a bit about his grandfather and explaining that, outside a couple of visits in his youth, he had little to do with Alistair and Nicola. Indeed, until very recently, he never spoke to them.
He also shared bluntly that he didn’t like nor trust Alistair (Abby had kind of guessed that) and had little patience for his cousins, particularly Suzanne (which Abby had also kind of guessed).
However, it was clear he held a fond regard for Nicola.
It was Penmort Castle that made him, as he called it, “heal the breach”.
She couldn’t blame him for wanting to experience his legacy, even in an unfair outsider way. If she had a legacy like that, she’d want the same.
Further, he not only asked about, but shared his own favourite books, movies and music as well as guiding them into a hilarious conversation about their least favourite books, movies and music.
She answered his questions because, she told herself, it was her job.
Not because she liked doing it. Not because she found it easy talking with him. Not because she was curious about his past and his family and how such a magnificent man as he fit in that strange viper’s den. Not because she was fascinated to know his favourite movie was Touch of Evil and his favourite book was In Cold Blood.
No (she told herself), it was just a job. Only a job.
She wasn’t in Munich with a handsome, fascinating man who not only wanted to know more about her but also easily shared more of himself.
She was there to do her job.
That was it.
After they’d eat, drink and talk, they’d stroll through night-time Munich hand-in-hand and walk off the beer and the Prinzregententorte.
After that, they’d go to their suite and he’d lead her to the bed (or, Friday night, it was the shower, then the bed) where he again made love to her, hot, long, and lingeringly.
It was different for them in Germany. He worked less, spent more time with her and all else, she found (and struggled against) could be forgotten. Their time together was more relaxed without the outside world pressing down on them. It was like being on a vacation but with Cash’s work intruding however insignificantly.
Which made it much, much harder for Abby to remember she was playing a role rather than living a dream.
So by the time they made it home late Saturday evening, she was contradictorily both refreshed and exhausted.
Cash had declared they were spending the night at her house because it was closer to the airport. Abby had attempted, all the way home, in a polite way, to prevent this.
As she followed him up the steps to her door, she knew she’d failed in this endeavour.
She had the keys ready and was beginning to reach around him when his hand came up and he took them from her.
In one of the myriad ways Cash was different than Ben, Abby noted that Cash had made a habit of doing things for her.
Ben would open her car door or he’d make her a drink sometimes when she didn’t even ask, or do other little things here and there that were mostly random but always thoughtful and definitely sweet.
Cash took this behaviour to extremes. He opened car doors, restaurant doors, hotel doors, every door. He made a point of positioning himself closest to the street when they walked along sidewalks something she remembered from years ago when her grandfather was still alive, that he told her was the hallmark of a true gentleman. He asked her preference for food and drink before the waiter arrived then ordered for her. Even though she held a hotel key card to their room, when she was with Cash, she never used it. She never once touched her suitcase. He, or a bellman, carried it everywhere.
Indeed, the only things he’d allow her to do was make him coffee, pour him a whisky or cook his food.
Abby was beginning to find this grating.
She might, if circumstances had been different, have found his gallantry attractive. She would, however, probably have explained the extent of it was unnecessary.
She might, again if things were different between them, find getting him a coffee, a whisky or dinner, something she enjoyed doing.
Instead, she found this a reminder that she was his. It reminded her that not only did she work for him, he owned her and, as he’d told her more than once, he took care of what was his.
She wasn’t his cherished partner, she was his valued possession.
He clearly took care of his possessions, his home, his car, his jet.
She was just one of many of his expensive belongings and this behaviour reminded her of that.
“Cash, you had the bags, I could open the door,” Abby stated and even though an escort would have kept her mouth shut, Abby was tired so she didn’t.
His eyes moved to her. “Yes,” he replied quietly, “but you aren’t going inside.”
Abby blinked at him in confusion, saw his eyes move to the bay window of her living room and his chin lifted. Abby’s eyes followed and she saw, just dimly, what looked like flickering candlelight shining through her curtains.
Her body froze.
No one should be there and certainly no candles should be lit.
Jenny knew they weren’t returning until late and she hadn’t a clue they’d be coming to Abby’s. Even if she’d wanted to leave them a warm welcome just in case, she wouldn’t have left a candle burning.
“Oh my God,” Abby breathed, “someone’s in there.”
“Stay at the door,” Cash ordered. “I don’t want you coming in until I tell you it’s safe. Understood?”
Panic welling in her, Abby grabbed his forearm as he lifted the key toward the latch.
“Cash! You can’t go in there!” she hissed. “You don’t know who’s there.”
“Darling, you might have intruders in your house. What do you suggest I do?” he calmly returned and Abby let him go and threw up her hands.
“I don’t know. Call the police?” she tried.
He dismissed her suggestion by lifting his hand to the lock while he said, “Stay here.”
“Cash!” Abby protested but under her breath so the bad guys wouldn’t hear.
Cash inserted the key into the lock but he looked over his shoulder and down at her, his eyes serious, his face hard. “Stay. Fucking. Here.”
All right then.
He was using the f-word.
Abby decided it was time to back down.
However, she also decided not to give in gracefully.
So she crossed her arms on her chest and gave him a glare.