Free Morelli's Mistress (Harlequin Presents) by Anne Mather Page B

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, Joan 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