Morelli's Mistress (Harlequin Presents) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Anne Mather
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 should have her supper, but the chicken casserole was still sitting, untouched, on a low heat in the oven. Abby wasn’t hungry. She was seldom hungry these days. She knew her mother worried that she was getting too thin, but food had become something of an anathema to her.
She’d intended to go and see her mother tonight, but the nurse had called earlier to say Mrs Lacey had had a bad day and was now resting. Which meant she’d been sedated, guessed Abby uneasily. There were few days now when her mother was strong enough to conduct a conversation for more than a couple of minutes.
She saw the car as soon as it turned into the grounds of the complex.
It was a distinctive vehicle, sleek and powerful like its owner. Its dark green bodywork was only visible because it had stopped beneath one of the floodlights that switched on as soon as a car entered the grounds.
How did she know it was Luke Morelli’s car? It was just a feeling she had, a sixth sense, that warned her this could mean trouble.
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Abby wondered what she should do. There was no need to panic, she told herself. He didn’t even know her name. But what if, after leaving her the other evening, he’d gone on to the Blue Parrot, and someone there—another member of the hen party, perhaps—had given him that information? It was a long shot, sure, and she was probably flattering herself that he’d been that interested. But could she take the risk?
No!
Glancing behind her, at the steel and chrome furnishings of the living room, Abby wondered if Luke would believe how much she hated living here. Would he understand why she had to stay, at the mercy of a man who didn’t love her, but who enjoyed controlling her? That she stayed to give her mother the treatment Abby couldn’t afford herself?
She doubted it. And right now, she needed to get rid of him.
She grabbed her jacket as she passed through the foyer, hauling out a pair of boots and shoving her feet inside. Then she cast a swift glance at her reflection. The black velvet lounging suit she was wearing wasn’t really warm enough to go outside on an October evening. Particularly when it was raining and she didn’t have an umbrella. But she didn’t have time to change.
The apartment was on the sixth floor, and she took the lift down, praying that Harry wouldn’t decide to call it a night and come home early. She could imagine his reaction if he caught her talking to a strange man in the lobby.
To her relief, there was no sign of Harry or Luke Morelli. Was she wrong? Were Luke’s reasons for being here nothing to do with her, after all? It might not even be Luke, she reminded herself optimistically. The car he drove was probably duplicated a dozen times throughout the metro area.
She decided she would just peek outside and see if the car had gone. It meant passing the desk of the doorman, but happily McPhelan was ensconced in the back room, watching the TV. Only visitors to the apartments apparently warranted a once-over from him.
Thank God!
CHAPTER TWO
L UKE HAD DECIDED to leave his visit to Ashford-St-James until the next morning.
When he’d arrived at Oliver Morelli’s home in Bath, he’d discovered that his father expected him to stay the night, and he hadn’t wanted to disappoint him.
Besides, his visit to the properties in South Road was intended to be anonymous. How much easier it would be to browse the small shops his agent had described to him in the
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 should have her supper, but the chicken casserole was still sitting, untouched, on a low heat in the oven. Abby wasn’t hungry. She was seldom hungry these days. She knew her mother worried that she was getting too thin, but food had become something of an anathema to her.
She’d intended to go and see her mother tonight, but the nurse had called earlier to say Mrs Lacey had had a bad day and was now resting. Which meant she’d been sedated, guessed Abby uneasily. There were few days now when her mother was strong enough to conduct a conversation for more than a couple of minutes.
She saw the car as soon as it turned into the grounds of the complex.
It was a distinctive vehicle, sleek and powerful like its owner. Its dark green bodywork was only visible because it had stopped beneath one of the floodlights that switched on as soon as a car entered the grounds.
How did she know it was Luke Morelli’s car? It was just a feeling she had, a sixth sense, that warned her this could mean trouble.
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Abby wondered what she should do. There was no need to panic, she told herself. He didn’t even know her name. But what if, after leaving her the other evening, he’d gone on to the Blue Parrot, and someone there—another member of the hen party, perhaps—had given him that information? It was a long shot, sure, and she was probably flattering herself that he’d been that interested. But could she take the risk?
No!
Glancing behind her, at the steel and chrome furnishings of the living room, Abby wondered if Luke would believe how much she hated living here. Would he understand why she had to stay, at the mercy of a man who didn’t love her, but who enjoyed controlling her? That she stayed to give her mother the treatment Abby couldn’t afford herself?
She doubted it. And right now, she needed to get rid of him.
She grabbed her jacket as she passed through the foyer, hauling out a pair of boots and shoving her feet inside. Then she cast a swift glance at her reflection. The black velvet lounging suit she was wearing wasn’t really warm enough to go outside on an October evening. Particularly when it was raining and she didn’t have an umbrella. But she didn’t have time to change.
The apartment was on the sixth floor, and she took the lift down, praying that Harry wouldn’t decide to call it a night and come home early. She could imagine his reaction if he caught her talking to a strange man in the lobby.
To her relief, there was no sign of Harry or Luke Morelli. Was she wrong? Were Luke’s reasons for being here nothing to do with her, after all? It might not even be Luke, she reminded herself optimistically. The car he drove was probably duplicated a dozen times throughout the metro area.
She decided she would just peek outside and see if the car had gone. It meant passing the desk of the doorman, but happily McPhelan was ensconced in the back room, watching the TV. Only visitors to the apartments apparently warranted a once-over from him.
Thank God!
CHAPTER TWO
L UKE HAD DECIDED to leave his visit to Ashford-St-James until the next morning.
When he’d arrived at Oliver Morelli’s home in Bath, he’d discovered that his father expected him to stay the night, and he hadn’t wanted to disappoint him.
Besides, his visit to the properties in South Road was intended to be anonymous. How much easier it would be to browse the small shops his agent had described to him in the
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