“I hope so?” But Abby had no idea. This wasn’t anything she’d bargained for. She grabbed some hand towels. “I don’t know. We have to get back out there now. Let’s talk tomorrow. Are you coming to London?”

Jordan nodded. “That was the plan.”

“Okay. Well let’s have lunch.” She leaned forward and kissed her. Lightly. Then more forcefully. Until Abby’s hands were tangled in Jordan’s hair, and she had to force herself to let go.

“I don’t want to let you go. I can’t let you go.”

Jordan closed her eyes. “You need to go.”

Abby nodded. “I know. But I want you to know this isn’t over.”

“It has to be, Abby. It can’t go anywhere.”

Abby shook her head. She refused to believe that. Her feelings were just too strong. “I’m falling for you. We can’t just sweep this aside. I know you feel it, too.”

Jordan stared at her. “I do,” she whispered.

“Only, when I’m just about to get married, that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

Jordan didn’t reply.

She didn’t need to.

Chapter 22

Abby walked through the door of her first-floor flat, then shut it hard. The only sound was her breathing, along with her neighbour’s TV below. They were an old couple whose TV was always blaring. She was so used to it now, she tuned it out. However, she wasn’t going to miss it when she moved in with Marcus after they got married.

Her heart stuttered at the thought.

Not now.

Her flat had that not-lived-in smell about it, even though she’d only been gone four days. Her empty coffee cups from before she left were still on the side, as were two small plates. She walked over to her grey couch and grabbed the cushions, plumping them up. Then she arranged her three remote controls on the coffee table, and tidied her copies of BBC Good Food into a pile next to them. Abby had taken out a subscription in the hope of following some of the recipes. That hadn’t quite happened yet, but the magazine made for great aspirational reading.

She strolled over to her kitchen at one end of the all-in-one room, wiping up a couple of stray crumbs from the side. She put the kettle on, then checked the fridge. No milk. She’d have to have a black coffee. Pretend she was from Italy. She could do that.

Ten minutes later, she was slumped on her sofa, her coffee going cold. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want anything. Well, apart from one particular thing. She put her head in her hands, then rubbed her face.

She could still smell Jordan faintly on her fingers. Still remembered what it felt like to be inside her.

Exciting. Sexy. Glorious.

She shook her head.