by Helen Brooks
She was sleek and wet when finally he nudged her thighs apart and entered her, moving slowly, carefully at first, conscious it had been a while for her and she would be tight. She was tight, but his ministrations had prepared her body to receive its satin-hard invader.
He filled her completely, the sensation extremely satisfying, and as he began to move with gentle thrusts to build her pleasure small rhythmic contractions began to grow deep inside, sending shivers throughout her body. And still he took his time, building passion until she no longer recognised who she was. Until she merged into him and he into her.
She knew the moment he surrendered to his own desire; suddenly he was moving faster and deeper, his voice hoarse as he groaned her name with each thrust of his body. They reached their culmination together, spiralling off into a world of colour and light and sensation that held no past and no future, just the glorious present. Morgan gave a single raw cry of fierce gratification, collapsing on top of her seconds later as he turned and drew her against him, still joined. They were both gasping for breath but slowly the frantic pounding of their hearts quietened and their eyes opened.
It was only then Willow was able to speak, her voice dazed as she whispered, ‘I never knew…’
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…’
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6439-1
SWEET SURRENDER WITH THE MILLIONAIRE
First North America
n Publication 2010.
Copyright © 2010 by Helen Brooks.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected].
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com