It was ample reward for his patience and restraint and he smiled, smoothing her hair back before kissing her forehead. ‘You’re amazing,’ he murmured softly, kissing her again.
‘It—it was good for you?’
He recognised the thread of doubt, the need for reassurance, and love for her made his voice husky when he said, ‘It was better than good, my love. I fell off the edge of the world.’
Her voice carried laughter in it now when she said, ‘That good, eh?’ as she tangled her fingers in the soft hair of his chest.
He stroked her back, her waist. ‘You’re all I could ever have hoped for, all I could have dreamed of, and I will love you till the day I die and beyond. I would give my life for you and consider it well lost, and I will never betray your trust in me by thought or word or deed.’
She touched her fingers to his mouth, her face blazing with love. ‘I know,’ she said, and she did. ‘Because I feel the same.’ She snuggled deeper into him, feeling his body respond instantly. ‘Morgan,’ she whispered, ‘do you realise we might have made a baby?’
His voice held amusement when he said, ‘I have to admit that wasn’t high on my list of priorities for tonight, but, yes, we agreed we wouldn’t use precautions so I suppose it’s possible from now on.’
‘But we might not have done,’ she said after a moment.
‘No, we might not.’
She lifted her eyes to his and they were glinting with laughter. ‘So we could always increase the odds, couldn’t we?’ She twisted her hips and heard his sharp intake of breath as she rubbed against him.
‘Absolutely.’
They made love twice more before finally falling asleep in each other’s arms when it was light and church bells were celebrating the birth of the Saviour. Willow’s last lucid thought was that from now on she would spend her nights in this man’s arms and wake up in the morning to the sound of his breathing and the promise of making love with him and feeling his arms holding her. Her body felt sensuously satisfied, her mind was at peace and she wanted to stay like this for ever. She slept.
EPILOGUE
WILLOW didn’t get her wedding-night baby, but exactly twelve months to the day they married, on a snowy Christmas Eve, their twin daughters made their appearance into the world.
Willow and Morgan hadn’t planned on a home birth—with it being twins and a first pregnancy they’d been advised a hospital confinement would be advisable—but the speed of the labour took everyone, including Willow, by surprise. Morgan ended up delivering the babies with Beth’s help as Beth, Peter and little David had been spending the day with them.
By the time the midwife reached the house after Morgan’s frantic telephone call, it was all over. Holly and Ivy were tucked up in bed with their mother having their first feed, the strains of the carol that featured their names filtering up from the kitchen below where an ecstatic Kitty was making everyone a cup of tea.
‘Goodness me.’ The midwife’s face was a picture as she stood surveying the happy scene. ‘And you say you only had your first pain a couple of hours ago? This isn’t how it’s normally done, believe me.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Beth said in heartfelt tones.
Morgan, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with his arm round Willow and one hand stroking the downy head of one of his daughters, smiled. ‘We’ve something of a reputation for doing things our own way,’ he murmured lazily. ‘Isn’t that right, sweetheart?’
Willow smiled back. He might have reverted to the cool, slightly laconic Morgan he liked to show the world, but a little while ago he’d been beside himself. It had certainly been a baptism of fire into parenthood. She’d had mild backache for the last twenty-four hours and had been slightly uncomfortable after lunch, but none of them had dreamed she was in labour. And now they had two daughters. She glanced down at the babies nestled against her and then looked at Morgan. The blue eyes were waiting for her and their expression touched her to the core.
Sometimes in the night he would reach for her to hold her close, not necessarily to make love but just to enfold her into him and feel her breathing and warm against him. She knew she was his world and every day she thanked God for what they had. And now they were parents and their love, like the amoeba, would metamorphose to embrace their family. And they had plans for the future, plans as yet they hadn’t shared with anyone else.
This house was so big and the grounds were wonderful, and although they wanted another child of their own in the future they had discussed adopting a couple—perhaps even more—of older children who had been placed in social care through no fault of their own. Children with health problems maybe, or who were disabled in some way—children no one else wanted to adopt because it might be too much of a headache.
Morgan remembered so well how he had wanted a family and a home of his own when he had been growing up, how desperately he had tried to make his relatives love and keep him, how he had felt when eventually he had been moved on to the next place. And eventually he had stopped hoping or believing that anyone would ever want him, hiding behind toughness and autonomy and taking the world by the throat.
They had talked through the painful memories together, slowly bringing into the light the recollection of cold dark nights when a little boy had been curled up in a strange bed yet again, or standing apart from the family he happened to be with watching other children receiving gifts or sweets or a hug, and knowing there was none for him.
Their family would be a family, they were united on this, and their children would be loved and cared for regardless of whether they were theirs biologically or not. Kitty and Jim would be perfect grandparents and right on tap to help too, because they didn’t fool themselves things would always be easy or plain sailing. Not where damaged little people were concerned. But love could move mountains and break down the most carefully constructed barricades; it had smashed those around Morgan’s heart, hadn’t it? Her own too.
The babies had stopped suckling, and as Beth helped the midwife check them over in their little individual Moses baskets Willow reached up and touched Morgan’s cheek. ‘I love you so much,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m so blissfully happy.’
He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing each one. ‘I love you too. Thank you for our beautiful daughters.’
‘Pretty personalised Christmas gift, don’t you think?’
He smiled quizzically. ‘What are you going to do for next year? How on earth are you going to top this?’
She dimpled up at him, and as Kitty walked in with a tray whispered, ‘I’ll think of something.’
‘Now that, my love, I don’t doubt…’
SECRETARY BY DAY, MISTRESS BY NIGHT
MAGGIE COX
~ BRITISH BACHELORS ~
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
NOW she knew what E.T. must have felt like—alone and abandoned, light years away from what was loved and familiar, on a planet that seemed totally alien and unwelcoming. No wonder he’d sought refuge in Elliott’s garage. Right now, Maya wished she could find a handy empty or darkened room to hide away in. One glance along the burnished candle-lit table at the high-octane guests, the reek of class and money, merely confirmed what she already knew to be true—she didn’t fit in. A ‘fish out of water,’ that was what she was. But the truth was she didn’t want to fit in.
Up until now her temporary jobs as an admin assistant had been pretty problem-free. But for the past few weeks her agency had asked her to work for a PR agency—Maya’s worst nightmare as far as employment went. As the cut-glass accents rose and fell all around her, the scent of social snobbery in the air as distinct as Chan
el No. 5, she knew why she resisted being part of such a phoney world.
She’d been raised by a father who’d all but sold his soul to perpetuate a similar lavish lifestyle and glean the dubious respect of such people, and in pursuit of it he had sacrificed everything that had once meant something to him. His talent, money, self-respect and once good reputation had been squandered and degraded as he lost his grip on reality and the values he’d once so fiercely upheld. And as he’d sunk lower and lower into a pit of self-loathing and regret for what he’d done, it had only been a matter of time before he took the ultimate terrible step.
Maya shuddered.
The devastating memory killed her appetite. Now the food on her plate held little temptation for her, and even knowing it had been specially created in a Michelin-starred restaurant for the purpose of the occasion was no incentive. Along with the dinner had come the services of one of the restaurant’s top chefs, supported by a small team of staff to supervise its plating and serving. As was his usual style, her flamboyant boss, Jonathan Faraday, had spared no expense in displaying the growing success of his well-known PR company.
Clamping down on the persistent little flutter in her belly that urged her to get the hell out of there while she still had her pride and dignity intact, Maya lifted her gaze determinedly to the urbane silver-haired man sitting opposite and gave him the brightest smile she could muster.
Bad move, Maya. His startled hazel gaze flashed an invitation in return, and with a sinking feeling she knew he thought she’d given him the green light at last.
Hell’s bells! What was she supposed to do now? Because it paid well, she didn’t want to lose her job, but neither did she want to sleep with her boss to keep it. If only his super-efficient, elegant PA Caroline hadn’t been called to the hospital bed of her dying mother-in-law at the last minute Maya would be safe at home now, dressed in comfy sweater and leggings; settling herself down on her sofa in readiness to view the film she’d hired for the weekend, with a bowl of tortilla chips, some salsa dip and a glass of wine on hand to heighten the experience.
Instead, she’d squeezed herself into a black velvet gown that was at least half a size too small, with her breasts crammed into a bodice so tight that it gave her the cleavage of a pneumatic glamour model, while her generously applied mascara made her eyes smart because it was new and she was obviously allergic to it. And all this discomfort because Jonathan had insisted she attend the function at his house in Caroline’s place. It didn’t matter that Maya was just a lowly temporary assistant from the less glamorous echelons of the company—Jonathan had had his eye on her for some time. He could see she had talent, determination, he’d said, smiling—and he could see she was destined for better things… He could see this was a good opportunity to get into her knickers…
Sighing heavily, she absently pushed the artistically arranged concoction of cranberries and parmaham round her plate with a fork. When the blatant caress of a shoeless foot stroked up and down her ankle Maya almost jumped out of her skin. Tucking her feet indignantly beneath her chair, feeling searing heat hotter than a blacksmith’s smithy assail her cheeks, she stared across the table at her suave, supremely confident boss. Bad enough she’d had an inkling that she might have to fight him off if he had too much to drink. Jonathan could more or less be counted on to chase anything in a skirt when his rampaging testosterone had been even more boosted by alcohol, but Maya hadn’t expected he would be quite so blatant about it from the off. And all he’d had so far was one glass of champagne as the guests had been welcomed into the drawing room. In the name of self-preservation she had deliberately kept an eye on his intake—so she was surprised and more than a little rattled that he seemed intent on staking a claim right away. Damn it, she shouldn’t even be here!
‘Excuse me.’
‘Something wrong, Miss Hayward?’ Jonathan swirled the ruby-red wine that a passing waiter had just poured into his glass, leaning nonchalantly back in his grand Regency-style chair to enjoy the view as his shapely young employee rose hastily to her feet.
‘No. I’m fine.’
Why did he have to notice everything she did? Was she forced to announce to the entire table that she had a sudden pressing need to visit the Ladies’ Room? Why couldn’t he just talk to the stunning blonde sitting next to him? The woman had been batting her eyelashes at him practically since they’d sat down. But apparently in the bedroom department Jonathan Faraday didn’t give women his own age the time of day—no matter how beautiful. He liked them young, so she’d heard on the grapevine. Bad luck for Maya that she’d only just turned twenty-five…
‘I’ll—I’ll be back shortly.’
Escaping before he could delay her further—or, worse, find some nefarious reason to accompany her— Maya found herself hurrying down corridors, the echo of her heels hitting the parquet floor mocking her as she struggled to find her bearings. Oh, why had she agreed to this farce? Now she was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, dependent on her lech of a boss for a lift home—and not until midday tomorrow, if what Caroline had said was true. Apparently Jonathan was in no hurry to get back to London until mid-afternoon at least. Maya’s head swam a little. The glass of champagne she’d had had been a dangerous lapse in judgement. She should have insisted on orange juice or mineral water. If she was going to get out of this little escapade with her virtue intact it was essential she kept a clear head—so no more alcohol for her, even if Jonathan insisted.
Her green eyes flicked hopefully round. She could have sworn there was a bathroom round here somewhere… Pushing open twin cream doors with ornate gilded panels, she found herself in a long, high-ceilinged room, its panelling painted in tastefully calming hues of pink and cream. A welcoming fire blazed in the huge marble fireplace, tempting her to stay and re-establish some of her lost composure.
Gazing round, Maya was momentarily distracted by the elaborate array of expensive-looking art that adorned the walls, and the seductive glow of antique lamps turned down low that cleverly created the illusion that the large, elegant room was actually more intimately proportioned than it really was. Succumbing to necessity, she gave in to the luxury of breathing out completely. Her tight bodice almost cracked a rib, while her lush breasts appeared in dire peril of escaping their velvet confines any time soon.
What had possessed her to wear such an outrageous dress? Okay, Caroline had told her the dress code was black tie and evening wear, but surely she knew that, when she’d borrowed the garment from her smaller-built friend Sadie, she was courting trouble by wearing it? Especially when Jonathan Faraday was around!
‘If Jonathan’s the confectioner, then clearly you’ve got to be the candy.’
At the sound of an amused yet obviously mocking male voice, Maya spun round in shock, mortified that she’d been observed when she had stupidly imagined herself to be alone. Her hand flew self-consciously to her cleavage, her teeth worrying at her plump lower lip as she stared at the man who suddenly rose from the high-winged chair turned towards the fireplace. Why hadn’t she noticed he was there straight away? A shiver of embarrassment and frustration sprinted up her spine. Staring transfixed at the imposing stranger, she felt his electrifying gaze welding her to a hypnotised standstill.
‘And you are…?’ Not that she really wanted to know, when inside she was silently fuming at his impertinent assumption that she had somehow been invited purely for decoration.
‘I see you haven’t done your homework, Miss…?’
Of all the arrogant…!
‘I work for Mr Faraday.’
‘Of course you do. You work for me too in that dress, if I may say so?’
Scorching embarrassment immobilised her. Blast that stupid dress! And blast her eye-catching curves, when life would have been so much easier if she’d simply been straight up and down and flat-chested.
‘If that was meant as a compliment, then forgive me if I don’t take it as one. It’s not at all flattering to be viewed as some kind of dec
orative object…as if I don’t possess even a modicum of intelligence! I’ve met people like you before, and I’m…’ Maya paused to take a breath, before biting her tongue. ‘Yes, well… I’d better not say any more. Time to go, I think.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve met people like me before?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Oh, but I do mind. Explain yourself.’
It was too late to rescind her comment, and Maya sensed her shoulders drop with resignation and not a little annoyance. ‘Enough to say I’m not part of the floor show or entertainment for the guests, however it might look. I didn’t even want to be here in the first place!’
The stranger’s well-cut lips parted in a puzzled smile. ‘This is getting more and more interesting. Why didn’t you want to be here, Miss…?’
‘Hayward.’
It was difficult to say with any sense of accuracy what colour his eyes were in the muted glow of the lamps—it sufficed to register that they burned with a fierce, concentrated gleam across the distance between them, keeping Maya prisoner even though she desperately wanted to flee. Beneath the bold regard of that disturbing glance she shifted uncomfortably. Was it her, or had the room suddenly acquired the temperature of some tropical oasis?
‘I’m only here because of work. All I meant was this isn’t my kind of scene and neither are the people. I apologise if I’ve offended you in any way with my frankness.’
‘Apology accepted. I’m not offended at all. Just intrigued.’
‘I’d still better go.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ The man walked towards her and a sharp spasm of recognition jolted through Maya’s insides. Blaise Walker—movie actor turned lauded and brilliant playwright. No wonder he had made that dig about her not doing her homework. He was the guest of honour, no less! The guest that Jonathan had announced to the table a mere ten minutes ago as being unavoidably detained.
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