Sweet Surrender With the Millionaire(14)

'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.