Sweet Surrender with the Millionaire (7 page)

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.’

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.’

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 highdefinition 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 glassmaking 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 approached 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 aban-donment? 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.

Once his body was under his control again, he reached for a cake tin and opened it to reveal one of Kitty’s unsurpassable moist fruit cakes. ‘Fancy a slice?’ he asked as he turned and showed Willow the cake. ‘It’s second to none. I can guarantee you won’t taste fruit cake like this again.’

‘You’ve convinced me.’

She smiled such a friendly smile it made him feel a swine for his lecherous thoughts.

He cut them both a generous portion and joined her on the other stool. After her first bite, she said, ‘It
is
fabulous. I thought my mother had the record for fruit cake but Kitty would have given her a run for her money.’

‘What happened with your parents?’ he asked softly. ‘Was it an accident?’

She nodded, her silky hair fanning her cheeks. Quietly and softly she told him the details and, although her voice was matter-of-fact, the pain in her eyes told its own story. He didn’t like how it affected him. He didn’t like how
she
affected him, but he reminded himself it didn’t really matter in the scheme of things. The circumstances that had thrown them together this weekend were unlikely to be repeated, and as long as he kept his lurid thoughts—and his hands—to himself, there was no harm done. Apart from a few sleepless nights perhaps.

Aiming to bring the conversation and her thoughts to happier things, he said quietly, ‘You said your sister is expecting a baby soon. How does it feel knowing you’ll be an aunty? Are you looking forward to it?’

She smiled, wiping a crumb from the fruit cake from the corner of her lips, and as his gaze followed the action his traitorous body responded sharply, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

‘I can’t wait,’ she said with genuine warmth, ‘but at the same time it doesn’t feel quite real. I mean, Beth’s my sister, the person I argued and fought and shared secrets with over the years. Her stomach’s getting bigger and she’s developed an obsession for chocolate and cherry muffins, but it’s hard to believe there’s a little person in there. Does that sound silly?’

Secretly enchanted she had let her guard down for once, Morgan shook his head. ‘Not at all. I’m a mere man, don’t forget. I find the whole process baffling. Well, apart from the beginning, of course. I worked out the birds and the bees some time ago.’

She giggled, blushing slightly, and as he looked at her parted lips he wanted to kiss her so hard it hurt. As he raised his eyes to hers they were smiling into his and for several seconds, seconds that quivered with intimacy, their gaze held. When her eyes dropped to her plate and she ate a morsel of cake with uncharacteristic clumsiness, dropping half of it onto the worktop, he knew he had been right.

Willow Landon was no more indifferent to him than he was to her.
Which presented a whole load of new problems. Big ones.

By the time Willow returned to her room all the good work the soothing hot milk had wrought was completely undone. Morgan had escorted her to the door, said goodnight very politely and disappeared along the landing to his own room without a backward glance, thereby rendering all her fears null and void.

Fears? a little voice in the back of her mind queried nastily. Don’t you mean hopes? Desires? Longings?

Her jaw tightened and she leaned back against the bedroom door, her legs trembling as she fought for control.

She was
not
attracted to Morgan Wright. ‘I’m not,’ she reiterated weakly, as though someone had argued the point. ‘No way, no how.’ She had no intention of getting involved with a man for a long, long time—if ever—and certainly not one like Morgan. If and when someone came along she
could see herself dating now and again, he’d have to be a mild, retiring type who was easy-going and happy to meet her halfway on any issues that might crop up. Morgan didn’t meet the criteria in any direction.

Not that he’d asked her for a date, of course. And wouldn’t. It didn’t need the brain of Britain to work out the sort of female Morgan would take to bed when the need arose. Without a doubt they’d be stunningly beautiful and sexy and probably highly intelligent as well; he didn’t strike her as a man who would be satisfied with merely an accommodating body. He’d expect mental as well as physical stimulation from his partners.

Levering herself away from the door, she walked across to the bed and sank down. She had known all along it was madness to come into his home. One of the reasons she had bought the cottage was because of its secluded location. It was far enough away from the nearby village to ensure there’d be no pressure from neighbours intent on including her in this, that and the other, or—which was even more pertinent—if any tried, she could cold-shoulder them without having to bump into them each day.

She raised her head and glanced around the luxurious room, her conscience kicking in as it usually did.

She was grateful to Morgan for his help, she really was, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings or anyone else’s for that matter, but it was somehow essential that her life was her own again down to the smallest decision. She had done the whole trying-to-please-everyone thing to death. She was never going to relinquish the tiniest fragment of her autonomy again.

Wasn’t that verging on callous? questioned Soft-hearted Willow reprovingly. Wasn’t that selfish and mean?

No. It was sheer self-survival, answered Unmovable, Resolute Willow grimly. Pure and simple.

Easing out a breath, she stood up. She was going to brush her teeth and go to sleep, and if Morgan insisted on helping her clean the cottage in the morning she’d thank him sincerely when they’d finished and then that would be the end of this…She sought for a word to describe what she was feeling and then gave up. ‘Whatever,’ she muttered grumpily to herself as she marched into the en-suite to brush her teeth.

Willow awoke to bright autumn sunshine streaming in the window the next morning. Sleepily she told herself she should have closed the curtains the night before, but then she checked the time by her wristwatch and shot into a sitting position.
Ten o’clock?
It couldn’t be that late, surely? Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she refocused her gaze. Ten o’clock it was.

Springing out of bed, she galloped into the bathroom for a quick wash and brush-up and was dressed and ready to venture downstairs within five minutes, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her face clean and scrubbed. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. When he had left her the night before Morgan had mentioned he normally breakfasted about eight in the morning at the weekends. What must he be thinking? And Kitty—the housekeeper would obviously have expected her employer’s guest to eat with him. Yet again she had done the wrong thing.

The big house was quiet and still when Willow opened
her bedroom door and stepped onto a galleried landing flooded with light. Old houses were sometimes dark and somewhat forbidding, but due to the number of large windows on every floor of this one it breathed airiness and space. She stood for a moment breathing in the slightly perfumed air, the source of the delicate scent becoming apparent when she descended the stairs and saw a huge bowl of white and yellow roses on a table at the foot of the staircase. They had obviously been arranged by Kitty earlier.

She didn’t have time to think about the flowers, though. As Willow reached the bottom step Morgan uncurled himself from one of the easy chairs dotted about the vast hall, throwing down the magazine he’d been reading before her arrival.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said before he could speak. ‘I never sleep late, never, and you told me what time breakfast was. I hope I haven’t put Kitty out and—’

‘Easy, easy.’ He smiled with warm amusement in his eyes. ‘In this house the weekends fit in with the occupants, not the other way round. You clearly found the bed comfortable at least.’

In truth she had tossed and turned until dawn, but her inability to sleep had had nothing to do with the bed and all to do with the tall dark man in front of her. ‘It was lovely, thank you.’ She could hear the breathlessness in her voice and was annoyed by it. The night before she had decided she was going to be very calm, cool and collected in her future dealings with Morgan Wright and here she was acting like a gauche fourteen-year-old.

‘Jim’s taken Kitty shopping once I persuaded her we were quite capable of sorting ourselves out for breakfast,’
he said lazily. ‘I suggest we eat in the kitchen if that’s OK? It’s easier and Kitty’s not here to object.’