He left before she could ask any awkward questions and for the same reason took the Harley. It would have been a giveaway if he'd walked. Kitty had a nose like an elephant as it was.
When he knocked on the door of Willow's cottage his heart was slamming against his ribcage with the force of a sledgehammer and his mouth felt dry. In any other situation he could have laughed at himself. This evening, though, he didn't feel like laughing.
The door opened and he hoped his nervousness, his rush of wanting, wasn't obvious to her. She stared at him wide-eyed, her delectable mouth slightly open, and he had to swallow hard before he could say, 'Just wondering how the sofa and things are drying out.' Weak, but it was the best he could do.
'They-they're still a bit damp.' She smiled warily.
He nodded. 'Are you cold?' he asked, noticing she was wearing a big baggy furry kind of top over her jeans.
'I haven't been able to light a fire.'
No, of course she hadn't. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded again, in a I-thought-asmuch kind of way. 'I know a nice warm little pub not far from here that does wonderful meals and the Harley's waiting.'
She blinked a couple of times and then, as though regaining control over her composure, she smoothed her hair in a little-girl gesture that spoke of confusion. 'Is-is this you being friends?' she said with a monosyllabic breath of laughter.
'Absolutely.' If ever there was a situation where a lie was called for, this was it. 'Scout's honour and all that.'
Their gazes met and held for a moment before hers skittered away. He didn't know whether she liked him or not, Morgan thought triumphantly, but she damn well wasn't unaffected by him and he'd take any encouragement he could get right at this moment. 'And it's also being a good neighbour,' he added, deadpan. 'Such a quality is highly thought of in this part of the country, believe me. Part of the countryman's code and unbreakable.'
She smiled and lust, pure and hot, knifed through him. Well, hot at least. White-hot, in fact.
'OK.' She lowered her head, her hair falling in a sleek curtain either side of her face. 'Come in a minute while I change. I can't go anywhere in these old things.'
Once in the cottage the chill was obvious, even through his leather jacket. He stood, hands thrust in his jeans pockets and his gaze directed at the ceiling above which she was changing. The place was an ice-box. Concern for her brought his mouth into a straight line, moments before he told himself it was none of his business. She had made it clear the day before she was in charge of her life. Furthermore, that she wouldn't appreciate any efforts to alter the status quo. He had to respect that.
She reappeared, and his voice sounded husky even to his own ears when he said, 'Ready?' She looked like all his Christmases rolled into one: gorgeous, self-possessed and as sexy as hell. And yet the demure little top she was wearing covered her to the neck and halfway down her arms, even though it clung in all the right places. A hundred women could wear it and it wouldn't stir his pulse above normal, but on Willow …
'This is very kind of you, Morgan.'
She meant well, but he found he'd had enough of the label. 'I never do anything I don't want to do, Willow.' He smiled to soften the statement as he helped her on with her jacket. 'I'm your typical selfish male. We're born that way.'
'But honest.' She was smiling back at him as she reached for her handbag. 'Well, you are at least. Aren't you?'
'I try to be.' He nodded. 'Yes, I think I am.' Then he grinned. 'Most of the time anyway.'
'Well, I guess that's not bad for the male of the species.' Her voice was light but there was something in her tone that jarred on him. Whether she was aware of it or not, he didn't know, but immediately she followed with, 'Some females too, come to think of it. Women are more inclined to tell little white lies so as not to hurt someone's feelings, I've found.'
'You mean with answers to questions like, "Does my bum look big in this?"' he replied lazily, to put her at ease, even as he thought, What the hell did her husband do to her to make her so sceptical? She wasn't like this before him, he'd bet money on it.
'Exactly.'
Once outside he nodded at the Harley parked across the other side of the lane. 'Hope you don't mind the mode of transport, but it won't be long and this beauty will be consigned to the garage if we get the sort of floods we got last year during the winter.'
She didn't answer this directly, saying instead as they walked over to the motorbike, 'What sort of car have you got?'
'Cars, plural. An Aston Martin and a Range-Rover.' But you won't have to hold onto me in those and I wouldn't feel your body pressed against mine. His eyes glittering, he gave her the spare helmet he'd brought with him and then helped her up behind him. She smelled gorgeous, some flowery thing with undertones he couldn't put a name to but which made his body harden. 'OK? Hold on tight.' Real tight, don't be shy.
He turned briefly to smile at her before he switched on the engine and her voice sounded breathless when she said, 'I'm not used to riding on a motorbike. How far away is the pub?'
'Not too far.' Unfortunately.
In fact it was ten minutes, being in the next village, the winding lanes that twisted and curved making it far longer than the crow flew and imposing their own speed limit. The pub was a pretty little thatched affair, complete with brasses and narrow mullioned windows and solid oak furniture.Having secured comfy seats by the big open fireplace in which a blazing fire roared, Morgan fetched two halves of beer and the menus.
'Warmer?' He took a long swallow of his beer, looking at her over the rim of his glass. She looked good enough to eat.
She nodded, her gaze not holding his but dropping to the menu in her hand as she said, 'Much. And starving too.'
They were seated at a table for two, so close he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. And he wanted to, he acknowledged silently. But he didn't. 'The pan-fried crispy pork with red-onion gravy is seriously good here,' he said conversationally. 'But the steaks are great too. Local butcher. But perhaps you'd prefer fish or a risotto?'
'The pork sounds lovely.' She tucked her hair behind her ears as she spoke, the movement not so much wary as guarded. He wondered if she ever let that guard down. Whatever, Willow Landon was one hard female to get to know, but, remembering that burning kiss and the way it had shook him up, it would be worth the trouble. Nothing worth having came easy.
Madness. The word resonated as it bounced round his head. This was madness and he knew it, so why had he asked her out tonight when this had every chance of ending badly?
He knew why. He wanted to make love to her more than he'd wanted to make love to a woman for a long, long time. There was a gnawing hunger inside him for her body, which had been with him since he'd first met her, and it was damn uncomfortable. If he took her to bed then maybe it would assuage the primal need and she'd stop featuring in his dreams every night.
That being the case, why wasn't he going all out to weaken her defences? another part of his mind asked caustically. He'd had enough experience with women to know the right buttons to press, for crying out loud. It was all part of the mating game.
Because Willow was different.
An alarm went off in his mind, causing him to raise his head with a jerk as a waitress appeared at their table for their order. He raised one eyebrow to Willow. 'The pork?' And at her nod, said to the waitress, 'Make that two.'
'This is nice.' She glanced round the pub as she spoke, her voice warm. 'Do you come here often?'
'Usually just the odd weekend when Kitty and Jim go to visit relatives in the north-east. Kitty always leaves meals she's prepared, but it's the putting it in the oven and getting it out at the right time I fall down on. I tend to work and invariably the meal's cremated by the time I remember.'
'She's very fond of you, isn't she?' She smiled warmly.
'As am I of her and Jim. We rub along together fairly well.'
She nodded. 'They're nice people, what my father would have called salt of the earth.'
The fact that it really mattered that she liked Kitty and Jim was another warning shot across his bows, but again he chose to ignore it. Lifting one ankle to rest it across the opposite knee, he settled back in his seat. 'Tell me about your father,' he said quietly. 'Were you close to him and your mother?'
She was silent for a moment. 'Very close. Beth was too.'
He found he wanted to know more. 'What were they like? As parents, I mean.' He wanted to picture her as a little girl.
She glanced at him, a small, uncertain look. 'They were great,' she said awkwardly.