LITMIR.BIZ

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father had warned her to expect this. That since Luke had been allowed to come home from hospital, he’d become morose and argumentative.

      Although he was supposed to be resting, he was apparently spending every morning on the computer, or haranguing his staff at Jacob’s Tower. He avoided visitors. All he seemed interested in was work.

      The fact that he’d had some success both on the futures market and in other, riskier, investments hadn’t improved his mood. It was as if he was trying to prove to himself—and to other people—that his injuries hadn’t impaired his business brain.

      Or that was Oliver Morelli’s interpretation, anyway.

      Obviously, Luke despised his weakness. And he apparently didn’t believe that his facial scars would fade. He’d told his father that he resembled a gargoyle, which Abby could see for herself was far from the truth.

      She sighed, aware that he was watching her, gauging her reaction to his appearance. And, okay, he was going to have quite a scar on his cheek, but it didn’t matter to her.

      In his father’s opinion, the damage that had been done to the muscles in his thigh was far more important. It meant there was a serious possibility that he’d never regain the strength in his legs.

      Abby thought that to her he would never look any different from the man she had, possibly foolishly, fallen in love with.

      But how to convince him of that?

      To begin with, she’d been so optimistic. Thanks to Oliver Morelli’s intervention, Abby had been allowed to spend time with Luke in the ICU.

      He’d still been unconscious, and it had been a worrying time when he’d been taken for another CT scan. His father had explained that, as well as his other injuries, they’d had to drill into his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain caused by some internal bleeding. That was no doubt why he’d slipped into a coma. But the treatment was proving a success.

      Or so they’d said.

      Later, with his doctor’s encouragement, Abby had spent a lot of that time talking to Luke. No one had known whether he could hear her or not, but she’d taken the chance and chattered away; pretending he was asleep, instead of being deep in the coma.

      But Abby couldn’t help fretting the whole time she was with him. She’d half wished she’d had Harley to comfort her. It was reassuring to think that Luke, too, might have appreciated the retriever’s presence. But, in the circumstances, Lori had agreed to look after him, enabling Abby to spend as much time at the hospital as she liked.

      She’d continued her one-sided conversation with Luke for days, and when—miraculously—he’d eventually opened his eyes and seen her, he’d seemed glad that she was there.

      He hadn’t been able to say a lot. With so many bandages around his head and body, he’d seemed too confused to speak. But Abby had believed his eyes had spoken for him, and she’d driven home in her little van that evening, virtually walking on air.

      Which had been a little foolish, she’d acknowledged later. Just because Luke had come round from the coma, she shouldn’t run away with the idea that their relationship had radically changed. But she’d been so pleased that he was alive and lucid that she’d ignored any future consequences.

      Which had been a mistake.

      She definitely hadn’t been prepared for the fact that the following day he’d refused to see her. And every day since, she’d had to rely on Felix or his father for updates about his health.

      It was from Felix she’d learned that Luke was recovering well from the treatment. That there’d been no further complications and, pretty soon, he’d be able to go home.

      ‘It’ll be different when he’s out of here,’ Felix had told Abby reassuringly. ‘It’s this place. It makes people go crazy.’

      But nothing had changed after Luke had left the hospital. And Abby couldn’t understand it. After all, when she’d rushed to his bedside after hearing about the accident, he’d said he loved her. What had changed since?

      Didn’t he know she was the one who’d spent all her free time in the ICU? Didn’t he realise how worried she’d been about him ever since? No matter how bad his injuries might turn out to be, her feelings would never change.

      But did Luke believe that?

      It was only after Luke’s father had contacted her that she’d been told more about Luke’s mental condition. She and Oliver Morelli had become friends, and he’d visited the café a couple of times to keep her up to date with developments.

      His explanation was that his son didn’t want to see anyone who might remind him of the accident. That the drugs he’d been given since being admitted to the hospital had left him depressed and confused. He was working because that was what he was used to doing. His personal life would have to wait.

      While Abby was sure there was more to it than that, she’d had to believe him. Until she could speak to Luke herself, there was nothing more she could do.

      And as hard as it was to accept, there’d been no point in forcing Luke to see her. She knew only too well how stubborn he could be. But surely, if she reminded him of the accident, so must Felix, yet Felix hadn’t been barred from his room.

      Now, six weeks after the accident, and three weeks since he’d been discharged into his father’s care, she’d been granted an interview. Ironic, perhaps, but there was no other word that fitted this invitation.

      And not at Oliver Morelli’s house in Bath, as she’d anticipated. Apparently, Luke had insisted he recuperate in his own home in London. In consequence, his father had had to agree to a temporary change of address.

      Abby couldn’t help but be impressed with the house itself. A tall Georgian town house, it stretched up over four floors, with long windows flanking the main door. The door itself was painted a glossy black, and had been highly polished. There were shutters on the many windows, and a semi-circular fanlight above the door.

      It was the kind of home she’d have expected a millionaire—or perhaps even a billionaire—to occupy, so what did that signify? It had certainly made her realise how remote from one another their two worlds were these days.

      The man she’d met in the wine bar that night bore little resemblance to the man who was waiting to see her. She’d wondered several times why he’d insisted on rekindling their relationship. It wasn’t as if he’d forgiven her for deceiving him. He still believed that Harry had been the innocent party all along.

      Inside, the house was equally impressive. A long hall led to the back of the house, where a conservatory reflected the warmth of the morning sun. A semi-circular table against the wall in the hall boasted a bowl of autumn flowers, with several greetings cards, evidently from well-wishers, lying on a silver tray.

      Abby had only glimpsed the rooms below as she’d mounted the curving staircase with the housekeeper. But, again, her impression had been of understated elegance, much different from the steel and chrome apartment she had once shared with Harry Laurence all those years ago.

      Despite the invitation, Abby was no longer optimistic about this visit. She was sure Oliver Morelli had persuaded Luke to see her, and that was the last thing she wanted in the present circumstances. She was supremely conscious of her pregnancy. And of the fact that aside from Lori—and Luke, of course—she’d told no one about the baby.

      Luke had apparently not told anyone either. And although she’d been tempted to tell his father, and Felix, she was loath to do anything that might alienate her even more from Luke.

      As she stood there now, she was intensely conscious of her own appearance. Already her clothes were getting tighter, and her breasts were spilling out of her skimpy bra.

      She was no longer the slender woman Luke had encountered when he’d come into the café that first morning almost four months ago. And of the two of them, she was very much

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