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 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 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.
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.’
‘That’s fine by me but you should have eaten earlier.’ She felt awful having clearly put a spanner in the house’s normal weekend routine. It was so rude.
‘Why would I do that?’ he said quietly, walking her through to the kitchen at the end of the hall.
Morgan opened the door and stood aside for Willow to precede him into the room. The kitchen was fabulous. She’d seen it in dim light, last night, but she’d been too fraught to take in how stunning it was. The flowing lines of the spectacularly beautiful black granite worktops, which glittered like a starry night’s sky, the wide expanse of light wood cupboards and array of every modern appliance known to man were impressive. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘Now this is a kitchen.’
‘Like it?’ He smiled, obviously pleased. ‘This is Kitty’s domain but I designed it myself and know my way around.’ He walked to a refrigerator that could have accommodated several families, opening it as he said, ‘There’s orange, grapefruit, apple and mango, black grape and cranberry juice. Which would you like? Oh, and a couple of smoothies, banana and loganberry.’
‘No pineapple?’ she asked, tongue in cheek.
He looked at her and she looked at him. He stood enveloped in the golden sunlight streaming through the wide kitchen window, his black jeans and white shirt making him a living monochrome. Her heart stopped and then galloped as he smiled slowly, his blue eyes warm as he said, ‘Touché.’
‘I’ll have black grape, please,’ she said weakly after a long moment when she could find her breath to speak.
He wasn’t supposed to be able to laugh at himself. Her heart was now thumping like a gong in her chest and she wasn’t able to control her breathing. That wasn’t who Morgan Wright was. Was it? But then she didn’t have a clue who he was.
She sat down at the kitchen table, which had been set for two. Not by Kitty, she was sure. A basket of what looked like home-made soft rolls and a pat of butter were in the centre, and Willow suddenly felt ravenously hungry. As Morgan handed her a glass of juice she said, ‘May I?’ as she nodded at the rolls.
‘Help yourself.’ He grinned. ‘Cooked this morning by Kitty’s fair hand. No shop-bought bread in this establishment.’
‘You’re spoilt,’ she said a moment later, her mouth full of the delicious bread. ‘Absolutely spoilt rotten.’
‘You’re right.’ He’d begun to cook bacon and eggs and the aroma was heavenly. ‘And long may it continue.’
They ate sitting side by side in the sunlit kitchen, finishing off with some of the best coffee Willow had ever tasted. Replete, she stretched like a slender well-fed cat. ‘I’ve never eaten three eggs at one sitting in my life.’ She glanced at him and he was smiling. ‘It’s not good for you, you know,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Very bad for your health, in fact.’
‘Eating?’ he murmured mockingly.
‘Eating too many eggs.’
‘You’ve been listening to the experts, I take it?’ he drawled lazily. ‘Give it another decade and they’ll be saying you should eat a dozen a day or something. Their advice changes with the wind. There’s always someone saying something different.’
‘So how do you know what’s right?’
He gave her a long, steady look and suddenly they weren’t talking about eggs. His eyes held hers locked. ‘Go with your heart,’ he said softly. ‘Always with your heart.’
There was a silence that stretched and lengthened. ‘And if your heart lets you down and leads you astray?’ she said shakily. ‘What happens then?’
‘There’s no guarantees in life,’ Morgan acknowledged after a moment, ‘but what’s the alternative? To live in fear and never experience the freedom of casting all restraint aside?’
‘Eggs aren’t that important to me in the overall scheme of things,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘I could live without them.’
‘Pity.’ He studied her face. ‘What if you wake up one day years from now when it’s too late and you’re old and set in your ways and regret all those breakfasts you never had? What then?’
‘At least my cholesterol will be under control.’
‘And control is important to you?’ he asked smoothly.
Again he’d put his finger on the nub of the issue but this time she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Remembering their conversation of the day before, she said carefully, ‘Probably as important as it is to you, yes.’
His mouth quirked to the side, a self-deprecating smile that intensified his attractiveness tenfold. ‘Ouch,’ he murmured lazily. ‘I guess I set myself up for that one.’
Willow slid off her chair. ‘I’ll help you clear up so all’s as it should be when Kitty comes back.’
‘No need, it won’t take a minute to load the dishwasher. Why don’t you get your bag and meet me in the hall and we’ll go to the cottage and start?’ he said easily.
Willow hesitated. She knew she didn’t want Morgan in her cottage. It was too—her mind balked at dangerous and substituted—irksome. But she also knew he’d made up his mind he was going to help.
Her expression must have spoken for itself because he said, very softly, ‘Get your bag, Willow.’
They worked like Trojans the rest of the day until late in the evening. Kitty arrived with lunch about one o’clock but apart from that they didn’t take a break. Willow had to admit Morgan did the work of ten men and by seven o’clock the cottage was cleaner than it had ever been. Morgan had thought to bring a large container of upholstery shampoo with him and her sofa and armchair were now damp but free of smuts. The new sitting-room curtains she’d bought the week before had been washed, dried in the sunshine and ironed and were now back in place at the squeaky-clean window. Ceiling, walls, floorboards and fireplace had been washed down and Morgan had even given the kitchen a once-over, although soot hadn’t penetrated too far within its walls. The bathroom door had been shut so that room hadn’t needed any attention.
Kitty had insisted she was cooking an evening meal for them when she’d brought lunch, and Willow had to admit she wasn’t sorry as she took a quick shower and washed her hair, vitally conscious of Morgan sitting on the French window steps nursing a cup of coffee. She was exhausted, the result of working flat out all day and not having slept properly the night before. Not to mention the nervous tension with being around him.
She left the bathroom cocooned from head to foot in towels and scurried up the stairs to her bedroom, even though there was no need to panic. Morgan wasn’t the type of man to take advantage. He wouldn’t have to, she thought wryly as she hastily got dressed in cream linen trousers and a jade-green cashmere top, which had cost an arm and a leg a few months ago. Morgan would have women falling over themselves to get noticed by him.
After drying her hair into a sleek curtain, she left it loose and applied the minimum of make-up, along with silver hoops in her ears. She wanted to look fresh and attractive but not as if she was trying too hard. After dabbing a few drops of her favourite perfume on her wrists she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she checked herself in the mirror. Wide green eyes stared anxiously back at her and she clicked her tongue irritably. For goodness’ sake! She looked like a scared rabbit!
Smoothing her face of all expression, she tried a light smile. That was better. She was going to have dinner with him, that was all, and once tonight was over it was doubtful they’d run into each other again. In fact she’d make sure they didn’t. Morgan was only in residence at weekends and she could avoid being home until late for the next little while. The planning office was crying out for a few folk to work Saturdays on a new project in Redditch, and on Sundays she could catch up with friends and visit Beth. It would all work out just fine.
Not that she expected Morgan to try and see her. Why would he? He was way out of her league in every way. But she didn’t want him to think she was hanging around at weekends in the hope of bumping into him. That would be the ultimate humiliation.
Neurotic. The word vibrated in her head from some deep recess in her psyche and she pulled a face at the girl in the mirror before turning away defiantly. She wasn’t neurotic, she argued silently, but even if she was she’d prefer that than Morgan Wright thinking she was interested in him.
Morgan was still sitting on the steps when she walked into the sitting room, his head resting on the side of one of the open French doors and his eyes shut. He hadn’t had the advantage of a shower and the shirt that had been white that morning was white no longer. She had approached noiselessly and now she stood for a moment looking at him. The hair, which was longer than average for a man—or certainly a businessman—had flicked up slightly on his collar and he had smudges of dirt on his face. Beneath the shirt hard muscles showed across his chest and shoulders and his forearms were sinewy beneath their coating of soft black hair. He looked more like someone who spent his days working outside than anything else. Tough, strong, brawny. Even slightly rough and hard-bitten. Piers had been tall but slender and even beautiful in a classical Adonis sort of way.
Shocked by the knowledge that she was comparing the two of them, she must have made a noise because the next moment the brilliant blue eyes had opened. ‘What’s the matter?’ He was instantly on the alert, rising to his feet with an animal grace that belied her earlier thoughts. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing.’ She forced a smile. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Nothing? Willow, you were staring at me as though I was the devil incarnate.’
‘Of course I wasn’t.’ Somehow she managed to keep any shakiness out of her voice and smile. ‘You imagined it.’
His expression hardened. ‘Tell me,’ he said flatly.
‘There’s nothing to tell. I…I was thinking your office staff might have a job to recognise their immaculately turned out boss tonight, that’s all.’ It was weak but all she could think of.
‘I don’t believe you.’ His blue eyes searched her face, demanding the truth. ‘What have I done to make you look like that? Forgive me, but I think I’ve a right to know.’
‘Nothing. Really, you haven’t, you know you haven’t. You—you’ve been very kind.’ He wasn’t buying it. ‘Very kind.’
‘So tell me,’ he said again. ‘What were you thinking?’
Willow stared at him helplessly. ‘I was thinking of my ex-husband,’ she admitted flatly, knowing he wouldn’t like it.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed to blue slits. ‘From the little you’ve said about him it’s no compliment you look at me and see him. Are we similar to look at? Is that it?’
‘No, that’s not it. At least, what I mean is, you don’t remind me of him. Just the opposite, in fact.’
She could tell he was unconvinced even before he folded his arms and said stiffly, ‘So what brought him to mind?’
Inwardly groaning, she sought for the right words. ‘Piers was very handsome,’ she said slowly. ‘And charming.’
He stared at her. ‘Willow, this isn’t getting any better.’
‘What I mean is, it was all false. A front. The real Piers—’ She shook her head, shuddering in spite of herself.
Willow wasn’t aware of him moving and taking her into his arms, it happened so quickly, but amazingly she didn’t fight the embrace but sank into it, closing her eyes as she rested against his chest. She felt his mouth on the top of her head in the lightest of kisses before he murmured, ‘Don’t look like that. He can’t hurt you any more, it’s over. He has no hold on you now, Willow.’
‘I know.’ She did know, but occasionally the memory of that last terrible night in their apartment would take over despite all her efforts to keep it at bay. Maybe Beth was right. Perhaps she should have seen a counsellor and talked things through with someone trained to help in such cases, but she had been determined to rise above the tag of victim. She still was. And as Morgan had just said, it was over now. He couldn’t hurt her any more.
Making a desperate effort to pull herself together and both shocked and mortified at how the evening had degenerated into something much too raw, she moved out of Morgan’s arms as she said, ‘You’re not like him in any way, that’s what I was thinking. I promise. Not in looks or anything else.’
‘Good.’ Gently he pulled her close again. His kiss was thorough but gentle, the sort of kiss she had fantasised about as a young schoolgirl. She was overwhelmed with a drowning, floating sensation that was sweet and sensual at the same time and mind-blowingly addictive. She felt a soft warmth blooming deep within her body and parted her lips to strengthen the intimacy between them, not really aware of what she was doing and led purely by an instinct so strong it was overpowering.
She was pressed against the muscular wall of his chest and could feel his heart thudding his arousal. It was exhilarating, heady, to know he wanted her. In these moments of time it was all that mattered. And she wanted him too.
His fingers had tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as his lips moved over hers with more urgency, his mouth meltingly sexy. He’d moulded her into him as he’d deepened the kiss and she felt as though they were already making love standing up, every contour of his hard male body pressing against her softness. It should have shocked her but it didn’t.
‘Willow…’ He groaned her name and something in his voice echoed in her. She wanted him. Right here and now, on the floor of her sitting room, she wanted him.
It was like a deluge of icy cold water as her mind registered how much she’d lost control. She jerked away, stumbling backwards as she gasped for air. ‘No.’ The word sounded plaintive, weak, and she took another breath before she said more strongly, ‘I don’t want this. I’m sorry but I don’t want this. This is not who I am.’
Morgan was quite still. For a moment something continued to blaze in the blue eyes and then it was veiled. His control was almost insulting when he nodded, a faint smile touching his lips as he murmured, ‘No problem, put it down to one of those crazy moments, OK?’ As she continued to stare at him he added softly, ‘I’m not a wolf, Willow. You’re quite safe. No is no in my book.’
A single beat passed. She knew she had to say something. They both were aware she had been there with him every moment. Flicking her hair from her hot face, she found she couldn’t look at him when she said, ‘I—I didn’t mean to make you think—’
‘I didn’t.’ His voice was firm but not annoyed. ‘It’s fine.’
Willow swallowed hard. ‘What I mean is—’
‘Stop it, OK? Like I said, it was one of those crazy moments that happen sometimes between members of the opposite sex. Now, I don’t know about you but I could eat a horse so how about we see what Kitty’s rustled up this evening?’
She met his eyes then. His features were expressionless and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It was easier to take his words at face value, besides which she didn’t know how to explain to him what she couldn’t explain to herself. If someone had told her that morning she would want Morgan Wright to take her with every fibre of her being she would have laughed in their face, but she had. And in this moment of absolute honesty with herself she knew this had been brewing from the first time she’d laid eyes on him, but she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the fierce attraction this man held for her.
Feeling the ground beneath her feet had changed to shifting sand, she knew she couldn’t dodge the truth. Gathering all her courage, she said woodenly, ‘I don’t make a practice of giving the wrong signals, I just want you to know that. I’ve never slept with anyone except my ex.’
‘If you’re trying to tell me you aren’t the sort of woman to hop in and out of bed with any man who catches your fancy, I’d already worked that out for myself.’ He raked back his hair and went on in a tone laced with unmistakable sincerity, ‘You’re still working things through after the break-up, I can see that, so don’t beat yourself up about one kiss. That’s all it was, a kiss. Forget it, Willow. I already have.’
But it hadn’t been, at least not for her. It had been an introduction into a realm she’d never imagined even existed. She’d loved Piers—at first, that was—but his lovemaking had never done what one kiss from Morgan had accomplished. Her green eyes darkened but, telling herself she had to follow his lead and lighten the mood, she nodded and smiled. ‘You’re right,’ she said as casually as she could manage.
He returned the smile. ‘Of course I’m right,’ he said lazily. ‘It goes with the name.’ Shutting the French doors, he locked them and then turned to where she was standing, leaning forward and touching her lips lightly with his before she’d realised what he was going to do. ‘We’re friends,’ he said easily, taking her arm and leading her out of the cottage into the warm October shadows, ‘so relax. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.’
Willow took a breath and tried to ignore what the feel of his warm flesh on hers was doing to her equilibrium. She might not have anything to fear from Morgan—although that was a mute point—but she had plenty to fear from herself where this man was concerned. She had to remember that and be on her guard. Morgan had been kind to her and she was grateful, but there was much more to him than met the eye. Much more.