by Helen Brooks
‘Perhaps. But this is your tale and marriage.’
‘Was.’ As she spoke Kitty bustled in with the main course, and Willow had never been so glad of an interruption in all her life. ‘Something smells wonderful,’ she said brightly.
‘Steak with red-wine butter,’ said Kitty cheerfully. ‘You don’t go in for all that slimming carry-on, do you?’
‘Not me.’ She had lost so much weight in the aftermath of the break-up with Piers she’d fought for months to gain weight, not lose it, having gone down to skin and bone—as Beth had put it. She’d never been voluptuous but she liked her curves.
‘Good. Can’t abide lettuce eaters. There’s toffee-ripple cheesecake with fudge sauce for dessert. It’s quite rich so you won’t manage much but it’s one of Morgan’s favourites.’
‘All your desserts are my favourites, Kitty.’
Kitty gave a rich chuckle. ‘Go on with you.’ But she was red with pleasure as she left them.
Willow looked at him. She was beginning to realise Morgan was more complex than she’d initially thought. She’d felt comfortable putting him down as a wealthy bachelor with a different girlfriend for each day of the week and a jumbo ego the size of a small mountain. The first part was probably still true, but he didn’t act like a man who had an inflated opinion of himself. He was obviously intelligent and determined—no one got to where he had without possessing such qualities along with a healthy dose of tenacity and intuitiveness—but he wasn’t brash or conceited. And the way he was with Kitty was lovely.
She frowned to herself. She would have preferred he stayed in the box she’d put him in; it was far more comfortable. Determined to deflect more searching questions, as the door closed behind Kitty she said, ‘Well, now you know all about me, how about you? Ever been tempted to walk up the aisle or are you much too sensible for that? You strike me as the confirmed-bachelor sort.’
Morgan smiled as she’d meant him to. ‘I got my fingers burnt a long time ago when I was knee-high to a grasshopper,’ he said lightly. ‘I decided then I wasn’t a for-ever-after type.’
‘Then we’re two of a kind.’ That sounded too cosy and, feeling flustered, she took a big bite of her steak. It was wonderful. ‘I’m surprised you aren’t as big as a house if you eat like this all the time,’ she said, raising her head.
The piercing blue eyes were waiting for her. ‘Ah, but I’m only here weekends,’ he pointed out softly. ‘Weekdays I live in London in a very modern, functional apartment, the kitchen of which, I must confess, is rarely used.’
‘You eat out all the time?’
‘I work out at the gym most nights and they have a good restaurant, which prides itself on the healthy options. I feel I can indulge at weekends. That’s my excuse, anyway.’
‘That doesn’t sound as though you leave much time for a social life.’ The words had popped out before she realised how nosy she sounded. She just hoped he didn’t think she was prying.
There was a sexy quirk to Morgan’s mouth when he murmured, ‘Oh, I manage fairly well. On the whole.’
She just bet he did. Her gaze fell to his hand as he drank from his wineglass. His hands were like the rest of him, powerfully masculine, and his forearms were muscular and dusted with dark hair. The room was large and impressive and yet he dominated it with his presence. She could imagine he would be devastating to come up against in the business world. Devastating altogether. Not a man you could easily forget.
Even more flustered, she concentrated on her meal for the next little while, which wasn’t hard because every mouthful was heavenly. Morgan did the same, eating with obvious enjoyment and making amusing small talk, which needed very little response on her part. Nevertheless she was aware she was as taut as piano wire and conscious of every little movement from the hard male body opposite her, even when she wasn’t looking at him. He was an…unsettling man, she decided as Kitty cleared away their empty plates and brought two helpings of toffee-ripple cheesecake, Morgan’s being large enough for half a dozen people.
He saw her glance at his plate and smiled the crooked grin that was becoming familiar to her. ‘Kitty thinks I’m a growing boy. And I don’t want to disillusion her, now, do I?’
It was somehow disturbingly endearing, and to combat the quiver of something she didn’t want to put a name to Willow’s voice was deliberately dry when she said, ‘Be careful you don’t grow too much. Those extra pounds creep up on you, you know.’
‘Not me. Fast metabolism.’
‘All in the genes?’ she asked, just to make conversation and echoing what he’d said to her earlier.
‘Probably.’ His voice was pleasant but dismissive.
‘Your father’s or your mother’s?’
He stared at her for a moment and Willow saw what she could only describe as a shutter come down over the brilliant blue of his eyes in the second before he shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. They died when I was too young to remember them.’
Quickly, she said, ‘I’m sorry. Mine died a few months before I got married but I still miss them dreadfully. So does my sister. She’s expecting a baby soon and it would have been nice for Mum to be around to see her first grandchild.’ She was gabbling but the look in his eyes had thrown her. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ she added weakly.
He shook his head. ‘No, there’s just me. The one and only original. Like that clock you liked so much.’
Willow smiled because she knew he wanted her to and for the same reason didn’t pursue what was clearly a nogo area. Her tenseness had given her the beginning of a headache, but she felt every moment in Morgan’s company was electric so perhaps it wasn’t surprising. She didn’t think she had ever met anyone who was such an enigma.
They took coffee in the drawing room where Kitty had placed the tray on a low coffee table pulled close to the fire, a box of chocolates and another of after-dinner mints next to the white porcelain cups. When Morgan sat down on a two-seater sofa in front of the table Willow felt she had no option but to join him, anything else would have appeared churlish, but she took care no part of her body touched his.
She declined cream or sugar in her coffee; the cocktails had been potent and so had the wine and suddenly she felt she needed all her wits about her. The coffee was strong but not bitter and the chocolate she chose was sweet and nutty. The red glow from the fire, the mellow light in the room, the different tastes on her tongue and not least the dark man sitting quietly beside her created a whole host of emotions she could have done without. She felt tinglingly, excitingly alive and had to force her hand not to shake when she replaced her cup on the saucer and turned to Morgan. ‘Thank you for dinner and everything you’ve done,’ she said steadily. ‘I’ll try and be out of your hair as soon as possible tomorrow.’
‘No need.’ His voice was deep, smoky. She had to clench her stomach muscles against what it did to her. ‘Stay as long as you like. I wasn’t doing anything special this weekend.’
‘Nevertheless I’d like to make a start on clearing up as soon as I can,’ she prevaricated quickly. ‘Get it over with.’
‘I’ll help you,’ he offered softly.
‘No, that’s all right, you’ve done enough already.’
‘Two pairs of hands will make lighter work.’
‘No, really.’ She could hear the tightness in her voice herself. Swallowing hard, she forced a smile. ‘But thank you.’
‘Is it me or are you like this with all men?’
His voice had been calm, unemotional, but the effect of his words brought her pent-up breath escaping in a tiny swoosh. Feigning a hauteur she didn’t feel, she said, ‘I’m sorry?’
He had settled himself in a corner of the sofa half-turned towards her and with one arm stretched along the top of the seat. The casual pose emphasised her own tenseness, which was unfortunate. ‘You’re as jumpy as a kitten around me,’ he murmured. ‘A little Titian-haired kitten with enormous green eyes that doesn’t know whether to bite or purr.�
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Willow bristled immediately, the welcome flood of adrenalin sharpening her voice as she said, ‘I can assure you I have no intention of doing either and I am most certainly not “jumpy”, as you put it. I’d just prefer to tackle my house myself, that’s all.’
‘So you’re not frightened of me or nervous in any way?’
‘Of course I’m not. Don’t be so ridiculous,’ she said firmly.
‘That’s good.’
He shifted position slightly and her bravado faltered before she steeled herself to remain perfectly still. He was only reaching for his coffee, for goodness’ sake! What was the matter with her? She had to pull herself together and fast.
Morgan drank deeply from his cup, took a couple of chocolates and then settled back into the contours of the sofa, his eyes on her wary face. ‘So,’ he drawled lazily, ‘Keeper’s Cottage is the place where you hide away from the big, bad world?’
He had hit the nail square on the head but Willow would rather have walked stark naked through the village than admit it. ‘Not at all.’ She found she was glaring at him and quickly moderated her expression. ‘I simply liked the area, the cottage, and it was the right price. It all came together at the right time.’
‘I see.’ His tone reeked of disbelief.
‘I’m not hiding away like a hermit after my divorce, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ she said hotly. ‘Not for a minute.’
‘That’s good,’ he said again.
‘But even if I was—which I’m not—it would be my own business and no one else’s. No one else’s.’
‘Of course it would,’ he said soothingly.
Willow drew in a deep breath. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re the most aggravating man in the world?’ she said stonily.
Amused blue eyes considered her discomfiture. ‘Not that I can remember. There have been other accolades, though.’
Willow took refuge in dignified silence—only because she silently acknowledged she wouldn’t win in a war of words with Morgan. After another two chocolates she ran out of something for her hands and mouth to do. His eyes were waiting for her when she nerved herself to glance his way.
‘This might not be the best time to confess, but I’ve arranged for a team of professional cleaners to go into the cottage first thing tomorrow,’ he said coolly. ‘I hope that’s OK?’
‘What?’ She literally couldn’t believe her ears.
Her voice had been so shrill he winced when he said, ‘Come on, they’ll do in a few hours what would take you a few days.’
‘You’ve hired strangers to go into my home? How dare you?’
‘They’re not strangers, they’re a small family firm I’ve used professionally several times and they’re totally trustworthy.’
‘They’re strangers to me,’ she ground out furiously.
He gave her a hard look. ‘So you’d rather struggle for days and still not do such a good job as they’ll accomplish.’
‘Absolutely.’ She glared at him.
He folded his arms over his chest, stretching his long legs as he studied her with an air of exasperation. ‘You like to make it almost impossible for anyone to help you, obviously.’
‘I don’t want strangers in my home,’ she repeated stubbornly. ‘I’m sorry but you’ll have to cancel them.’
‘You mean it, don’t you?’ His voice carried a faint air of bewilderment, which would have made her smile in different circumstances. ‘You’d really rather do it yourself.’
Willow tilted her chin. ‘I know you were trying to be kind,’ she said steadily. ‘I appreciate that, really. But I am more than capable of looking after myself and I like to do things my way. I do not want a cleaning team in my cottage.’
Morgan said nothing for a few moments. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Fair enough. I’ll ring them and tell them they’re not needed. OK?’
‘Thank you.’ She relaxed a little. Bad mistake.
‘And in the morning I’ll help you make a start and you can tell me exactly how you want things done.’ He reached for another chocolate as he spoke, popping it into his mouth before offering her the box. ‘OK?’ he said mildly. And he smiled.
She stared at him. After rejecting his proposal about the cleaners she didn’t feel she could refuse his help again. Besides, he was talking about it as though it were already a fait accompli. Her brow slightly furrowed, she said hesitantly, ‘I don’t want to put you about any further.’
‘You’re not.’ He grinned a slightly wolfish grin. ‘Have one of the dark ones with the cherry on top. They’re delicious.’
CHAPTER SIX
OK, SO he’d lied about the cleaners but it was only a small white lie. And perfectly acceptable in the circumstances.
After an hour or two of tossing and turning Morgan had given up all hope of sleep and decided to take a shower. Now, as he stood under the cool water with his face upturned to the flow, he found his mind was still centred on the flame-haired, green-eyed girl sleeping under his roof.
She would never have agreed to let him accompany her to the cottage tomorrow without a spot of subterfuge, and the job of cleaning up was too much for one, he told himself self-righteously. Hell, he was doing her a favour after all. He’d brought home a briefcase full of papers needing his attention this weekend; it wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything better to do.
Turning off the water, he raked back his hair and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was black and white, the white bath, basin, toilet and bidet offset by gleaming black wall and floor tiles and a large strip of mirror that coiled round the room at chest height and reached the ceiling. The room had a voyeuristic quality, which Morgan didn’t apologise for in the least, having designed it himself, along with the equally luxurious and dramatic bedroom, again in black and white.
After drying himself roughly with a towel he walked through to the bedroom stark naked, flinging himself on the ruffled black sheets and switching on the massive high-definition LCD TV. He flicked through umpteen channels before throwing down the remote with a grunt of irritation, his mind replaying the last few minutes before he’d left Willow at her bedroom door.
He’d wanted to kiss her so why the devil hadn’t he? he asked himself testily. Just a light, friendly kiss, nothing heavy. A social exchange that would have emphasised he was merely being neighbourly in having her stay. But he hadn’t wanted her to get the wrong idea, to imagine he was coming on to her. She was already like a cat on a hot tin roof most of the time—he hadn’t liked the idea of unsettling her further.
Nice rationalisations, another section of his mind stated dryly, but that was all they were. The truth was he hadn’t dared trust himself to kiss her. He had the feeling once his mouth connected with hers it might mean a whole lot of trouble.
Groaning softly, he rolled over and stood up, pulling on his black towelling robe. If he wasn’t going to be able to sleep he might as well make himself a pot of coffee and do some work in the study. He’d brought home the details of a merger he was contemplating and he wanted to get the facts and figures securely under his belt for a meeting on Monday morning. His main business interests revolved around the buying and selling of companies—always at a profit—and he had a team of people working for him at the premises he owned in the city. This project was a little different, however. A friend he’d been at uni with had approached him asking for his help. His friend owned a glass-making business, which had been handed down through his family for generations, but it was in severe financial trouble. The proposal was that for a share of the business he plough in the necessary funds to keep it floating but, friend or not, he didn’t intend to try to patch up a ship that was too full of leaks. He needed to go through the papers very carefully so he knew exactly what was entailed.
The dogs were sprawled in the hall when he padded downstairs, his bare feet making no sound. Bella raised her head, wagged her tail and settled down to sleep again and the rest of the pack—as always—followed her lead. As he approache
d the kitchen he saw a dim light shining from under the door and, forewarned, opened the door quietly. She was sitting on one of the stools at the island in the center of the room sipping at a mug of something or other. The sight of her—her slim figure wrapped in a white towelling robe and her shining mass of hair loose about her shoulders—took his breath away for a moment. ‘Willow?’ he murmured softly. ‘Is everything all right?’
The jump she gave almost sent her off the stool and onto the floor as she swung round to face him. ‘Morgan, I didn’t hear you.’
‘Sorry.’ He raised his hand placatingly. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just going to get myself some coffee.’
‘No, no, that’s OK, you didn’t startle me.’
He clearly had. She still looked scared to death.
‘I—I couldn’t sleep,’ she stammered. ‘Strange bed. I thought I’d make myself some hot milk.’
Hot milk. He could give her something much more satisfying than hot milk to help her sleep. There was nothing like a long bout of lovemaking to relax tense muscles. ‘I couldn’t sleep either but in my case it’s not the bed,’ he said blandly. ‘My solution was going to be coffee and work.’ He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his study.
She was as flushed as if she’d read his illicit thoughts, her eyes dropping to the mug in her hand. She had small hands, he thought, although her fingers were long and slender. Nice nails. Long but not too long. How would it feel to have them rake his back gently in the moment he brought her to a climax? To have her moan and pulse beneath him? To cry out as he tasted and pleased her until her thighs shook and she sobbed his name in utter abandonment? They would be good together; he knew it.
His erection pulsed, almost painfully so, and conscious the towelling robe did little to hide his arousal he kept his back to her while he fixed himself a pot of coffee, making small talk as he did so. Hell, what a situation to be in. In spite of himself he wanted to smile. If anyone had told him a few weeks ago he’d be lusting after a woman to the point of making a damn fool of himself—a woman who wasn’t remotely interested in him, incidentally—he’d have told them they were crazy.