‘Abby.’ His voice was like a stop sign.
‘I’m sorry. Am I being pushy? I just wondered how long you dated.’
His lips were pressed almost flat. ‘Three years.’
‘Did you ever discuss it? Marriage, I mean?’
A muscle flickered near his mouth like a faulty switch during a power surge. ‘Look, do you want me to take you to this damn ball or not?’
Abby hadn’t worked in journalism for nothing. She had been known to get blood out of stones before. Whole litres of it. It was a trick of hers to get people talking about themselves so she didn’t have to share anything about herself. ‘Were you in love with her?’
He opened the front door and jerked his head towards the exit. ‘Out.’ His eyes were dark and brooding with bottled-up anger. Anger or something else…
Abby shifted her lips from side to side in a musing manner. ‘Are you angry with me or at life in general? Grief can do that to—’
‘Don’t play the amateur psychologist with me,’ he said. ‘Save it for those foolish enough to fall for it.’
‘I’m sensing a little resistance from you on the subject of your relationship with—’
‘I wasn’t in love with her, okay?’ He took a deep breath as if to calm himself, one of his hands rubbing over his face like he wanted to erase something. ‘And no, I wasn’t going to marry her.’
‘But you still miss her.’
He gave a movement of his lips that was closer to a grimace than anything near a smile. ‘She was a nice young woman. She didn’t deserve to have her life cut short.’
Abby touched his arm. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you moved on with your life. You don’t have to grieve for her for ever.’
The way he looked at her made her insides suddenly quiver. ‘Are you offering yourself as a replacement?’
Abby dropped her hand from his arm as if it had been scorched. ‘Of course not. You’re not my type.’
‘Not perfect enough for you?’ There was a hint of cynicism in his tone.
‘There is nothing wrong with wanting the best for yourself,’ Abby said. ‘Especially when you’re a woman. Women often settle for second best or good enough instead of perfect. Why shouldn’t we have what we want? Why should we have to compromise over something so important as a life partner?’
‘So far the only perfect partner you’ve found is the one inside your head.’
‘So far,’ Abby gave a small nod. ‘But I haven’t given up hope yet.’
‘Good luck with that.’
* * *
Luke helped Abby into his car but he was having trouble keeping his eyes away from her cleavage. The emerald-green ball gown was as sleek as a glove on her, showcasing her assets in a way that made his hormones honk and howl and do a happy dance. She wasn’t super-slim but all her curves were in the right places—places he was getting hard just thinking about. The imitation diamond pendant—he knew it was an imitation because he could spot a fake a mile off—swung just above the shadowed cleft between her bra-less breasts, making him want to place his lips and tongue in that scented hollow, to taste the creamy flesh, to graze his teeth over the nipples he could see pressing against the silky fabric. The dress skimmed her waist and hips and fanned out behind her in part mermaid tail and part train. Her hair was in one of those up styles that looked like it took no time at all to do but still managed to look elegant at the same time. And it framed her face, highlighting the slope of her porcelain-smooth cheeks. Her smoky eye make-up made her brown eyes pop, but it was her mouth that kept pulling his gaze. Glistening with a shimmering lip-gloss, her Cupid’s bow tortured his self-control like a yo-yo dieter at an all-you-can-eat banquet.
He had to stop drooling over her mouth.
Luke got in the driver’s side of his car and curled his fingers around the steering wheel before he was tempted to reach across the console and place his hand on her silk-clad thigh. Was she even wearing knickers under that dress? The thought triggered a flare of lust so powerful it snatched his breath as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.
Abby glanced at him. ‘Are you okay?’
Luke opened and closed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Yep.’
‘You made a funny sound…kind of like you were in pain. You’re not getting one of your migraines, are you?’
Now why didn’t I think of that as an excuse? Not that he was the type of guy to renege on a commitment. When he made a decision he followed through on it. Two hours of his time was not a huge commitment. Thank God. ‘No. Just not looking forward to making small talk. It’s not my forte.’