Anne Mather - Morelli's Mistress

‘Hi,’ he said, relieved at least to see she’d made it okay. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘Oh—do you think we could go somewhere else?’ she asked, glancing behind her. ‘This place is awfully noisy, don’t you think?’

It was, but Luke was tempted to ask why she’d asked him to meet her here if she didn’t like it. So, ‘Where?’ he asked, paying the bartender for the bottle of beer he’d been handed. ‘It’s going to be noisy everywhere at this time of night.’ He paused. ‘Look, there’s an empty booth over there. Why don’t we sit down and talk about it?’

She shrugged, but he could tell she wasn’t happy. Still, she agreed to the glass of wine he suggested, and Luke commandeered the booth before anyone else could take it.

‘That’s better,’ he said, sliding onto the banquette beside her. His hip nudged hers and he thought she caught her breath.

She smelled incredible, a sensual, exotic scent that filled his nostrils and fired his blood. God, he wanted her, he thought unsteadily. What were the chances of him persuading her to come back to his apartment?

‘Why don’t you take off your coat?’ he suggested. ‘It’s warm in here.’

‘Oh, I...’ If anything, she wrapped the collar of the coat more closely about her, and Luke sighed.

‘It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, you know,’ he told her gently, bending to nuzzle his face against her soft cheek. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again. I was seriously thinking you’d decided to write me off.’

Annabel gave a husky laugh. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

‘So—what? You’d let me know if I was wasting my time, right? Because I have to tell you, Annabel, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do.’ Luke cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. ‘I’m not saying I’ve led a monk-like existence. What man has?’ He brushed her lips with his. ‘But this is different. You’re different.’ He kissed her again, more thoroughly this time. ‘How would you feel if I asked you to come back to my apartment?’

Annabel caught her breath. ‘Your apartment?’ she breathed, drawing back when he would have kissed her again, and as she did so the collar of her coat fell away, revealing an ugly bruise on her neck. ‘Where do you live?’

‘North London. Camden.’ But Luke was more interested in how she’d got that bruise on her neck. Although she drew back, he touched it with gentle fingers. ‘How did this happen?’

‘Oh...’ She pulled her collar up again, and shook her head. ‘I fell. In the bathroom. Stupid, huh?’ She changed the subject. ‘Do you live alone?’

‘Well, I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking,’ he said humorously. ‘Do you?’

‘Funny you should ask that.’

Two things happened in quick succession: the man who had spoken, a man Luke had never seen before, slid into the booth opposite them; and Annabel said, ‘Harry!’ in a shocked voice, and shifted away from Luke, proving she did know who the newcomer was.

He was a heavy man, not particularly tall, but broad and muscular, with the kind of self-satisfied confidence Luke encountered in the boardrooms of the companies he dealt with every day.

If he had to guess, and judging by the cut of the suit the guy was wearing, Luke would say he probably worked in the City. So who was he? Annabel’s boyfriend? Her partner? Surely not.

The guy cast Luke a contemptuous look. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your companion, Abby?’

Abby?

Luke remembered his earlier suspicion that that might be her name.

Abby shifted a little nervously. ‘Um—this is Luke. Luke Morelli,’ she said, her voice barely audible. ‘He’s—he’s just a friend.’

‘With benefits, if I’m any judge,’ said Harry, his eyes not leaving Abby’s face. ‘Isn’t it lucky that I decided to come looking for you here?’

Abby took a steadying breath, or that was how it seemed to Luke, and seemed to gain some resolution. ‘You said you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow,’ she exclaimed accusingly.

‘And you said you were going to have an early night.’ Harry arched a mocking brow. ‘What a lying little bitch you are!’

‘Take that back!’

Slamming his hands down on the table, Luke got to his feet and reached for the other man’s collar. Hauling him up out of his seat, he said savagely, ‘Who the hell do you think you are, speaking to her like that? I’ve a good mind to...’

‘No, Luke!’

Abby was on her feet now, reaching for his arm as he was thinking of ramming his fist into the other man’s face. And Harry, if that was his name, gave a harsh laugh.

‘Listen to her, Luke,’ he said, raising a hand to his throat and easing himself away. ‘Ask her what gives me the right to expect a certain measure of loyalty from her. I bet she hasn’t mentioned me, has she?’

Luke scowled. ‘Well, if you’re her boyfriend, you should show her more respect,’ he said harshly. He turned to Annabel—Abby—and waited for her to speak. ‘Who is this loser? Do you know him?’

Which even he knew was a stupid question in the circumstances. But, Goddammit, he felt as if he’d suddenly stepped into an alternative universe.

It was the man who answered, his expression as smug as the words he uttered.

‘She’s my wife, Luke. Has been for—let me see—three years. And if she wants a divorce, she only has to ask for one. Isn’t that right, Abby? Go on, Luke, ask her if she wants a divorce. But I think you’ll find she doesn’t. My wife has expensive tastes that I doubt you could satisfy. What do you say, Abby? Tell your—friend—that I’m right.’

Abby didn’t answer him and Luke felt the bottom drop out of his world. But he wouldn’t ask her if she wanted a divorce. It was obvious, he’d been a fool to believe her. She had no intention of leaving her husband. She’d played them both for fools.

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