Sweet Surrender With the Millionaire(18)

Suddenly he understood. 'It doesn't hurt to hear about other people's  parents,' he lied softly. 'Tell me, if it's not too painful to talk  about them,' he added quickly.

'No, Beth and I talk about them often.' She bit her lower lip, her small  white teeth worrying the flesh for a moment. 'Where do you want me to  start?'

His eyes had flared at the action, but he didn't betray the desire it  had induced in his voice when he said, 'The beginning. You as a little  girl in pigtails and white lace.'

She smiled, as he'd wanted her to, and relaxed a little. 'I so wasn't a white lace sort of child.'

'But you had pigtails? Cute little red pigtails and freckles?'

She nodded. 'Plenty of freckles.'

'Pigtails and dungarees, then, and scabby knees and ink-stained fingers. And those sandal things, jelly beans, aren't they?'                       
       
           



       

'Now you're nearer the truth.' She took a sip of her beer and began,  'Well, Mum was a stay-at-home mother and Dad had a nine-to-five job,  very traditional … ' She talked about her home, their family holidays, how  she and her sister had smuggled home a 'pet' crab because they'd been  desperate for a pet, after which their parents had bought them a hamster  each …

He listened, fascinated, but consciously untensing his jaw several times  as the scenes her words invoked brought the old familiar longing  tightening muscles.

The subject came to a natural conclusion when the waitress brought their  meals, but for a few moments the feeling he'd grown up with-that of  being on the outside looking in-was strong before he slammed the lid on  what he considered weakness. Being shunted around various relatives who  grudgingly took him in for a few months at a time, ignored, neglected,  shouted at, was a better deal than some poor kids had, and the  independence that had been forced on him at an early age had got him to  where he was now. Without that early training he wouldn't have made it.

He repeated the words that had become his mantra to focus his mind on  the positive as he ate, and within a minute or two he was back on an  even keel. He didn't need anyone, he'd managed on his own for over three  decades and that was the way he liked it. No, he didn't need anyone,  but wanting physically was a different matter and entirely natural. And  he wanted Willow. More and more every moment he was with her. He didn't  know what it was about this defensive, wary, honey-skinned woman that  made him ache with want, but whatever it was, it had knocked him for  six. He admitted it. In fact it was a relief to admit it.

But it brought its own set of problems. The main one of which being he  was dealing with a vulnerable young woman here, not the sort of woman he  usually favoured who was capable of being as ruthless as him, in bed  and out of it. Whatever had gone on with this idiot of a husband of  hers, it hadn't been pleasant and the scars hadn't healed. Not by a long  chalk. He had to walk away from this one. At least for a while.

Morgan's eyes narrowed but otherwise his face was impassive, displaying  no emotion. This ability he had of hiding his feelings was what had made  him so successful in business.

The trouble was, he didn't know if he could walk away. A pang of desire  struck, low and deep. And that left him … where? Between a rock and a hard  place, as Kitty would say.

' … mine, it's pretty wonderful.'

Too late he realised Willow had spoken and he hadn't caught most of it. Pulling himself together, he said, 'Sorry?'

'I said, if your pork is as good as mine, it's pretty wonderful, ' she  repeated quietly, clearly slightly put out he hadn't heard her the first  time. Which was understandable.

Cursing himself, he said smoothly, 'It's so good I always lose  concentration for the first few mouthfuls-it's the glutton in me.  Shameful, I admit it.'

She smiled, but a faint shadow remained in the green eyes. He didn't  like that he'd put it there, nor the uncertainty that went with it.  Which was crazy, he told himself grimly. When had he ever cared to that  extent? It was further proof, if any were needed, that he had been  right. He had to walk away now and stop flirting with disaster. There  were plenty of Charmaines out there, nice and uncomplicated without any  baggage. Why go looking for trouble?

CHAPTER EIGHT

'SO YOU slept at his place after he'd charged in on his white horse-'

'Harley, actually. Great brute of a thing.'

'His white horse and rescued you,' Beth went on, undeterred by Willow's  dry tone. 'And then the guy helps you clean the cottage, invites you  back to his place for another great meal-'

'It was Kitty who invited me back, to be strictly truthful.'

'And then turns up the next evening and takes you out to dinner! And you  say he's only being neighbourly? Come on, Willow, get real. From what  you've told me he isn't some geek or other who's starved for female  company and fastens onto the first woman he gets friendly with. The  guy's a player, and hot, obviously. And don't wrinkle your nose like  that.'                       
       
           



       

'Well, don't use such terminology, then. You've never even met him.' Willow stared at her sister indignantly. 'A player!'

'Does he or does he not have an active social life?'

'I guess.' She nodded. 'Yes, course he does.'

'And does he give you the impression of being celibate?'

Willow stared helplessly at her sister. Several days had passed since  the last meal with Morgan and she had filled them with work, work and  more work, staying late at the office and getting in to work early.  Arriving home exhausted helped her sleep and prevented endless  postmortems on the hours with Morgan. 'You've got the wrong idea about  this,' she said at last. 'Honestly, Beth, you've got totally the wrong  idea.'

Beth surveyed her sister over the rim of her mug of hot chocolate. It  was Friday lunchtime and Willow had popped in for a quick snack and a  chat, although the chat had turned into the third degree for which Beth  made no apology. 'So what's the right idea?' she asked, setting her mug  down.

She wished she knew, Willow thought ruefully. She didn't know which end  of her was up, but she couldn't very well tell Beth that. She didn't  want to get involved with a man-any man-but since she'd got to know  Morgan better due to the events of last weekend she couldn't get him out  of her mind and it was driving her mad. Furthermore, she had been both  elated and terrified when he'd turned up last Sunday, worrying all night  at the pub that he was going to make a move on her when he saw her  home, and then being devastated when he said goodbye with a chaste kiss  on her cheek. How was that for inconsistency?

Taking a breath, she said calmly, 'I told you, Beth. Morgan's a neighbour, that's all. A friend. Someone to have a drink with.'

'Has he kissed you?' Then Beth gave a little squeal. 'He has, hasn't he? He's kissed you.'

It was useless to deny it with the flood of hot colour staining her  cheeks. 'Once, with the sort of kiss you mean, and we both agreed it was  a mistake and that was the end of that.'

'Was that before or after he turned up on your doorstep and took you to the pub?' Beth asked very intensely.

'Before.' Willow's tone was wary.

'There, you see.' Beth was positively triumphant. 'He came back for more, don't you see? Oh, come on, Willow, you must see?'

'Beth, we went for a meal and he saw me home and kissed my cheek as if I  was his maiden aunt. If that's passion, I'm a monkey,' said Willow  irritably.

'Have a banana, Cheetah.' Beth grinned at her wickedly.

Willow shook her head. 'He didn't ask to see me again and if anything he  seemed glad to get away. And I wasn't imagining it,' she added  fiercely, as though Beth had contradicted her. 'Anyway, he knows I'm not  interested in a relationship and he's not the sort of man to bang his  head against a brick wall.'

'So what sort of man is he?' Beth asked gently.

Enigmatically male. Virile. Strong and gentle at the same time, which  was dangerously attractive. She could go on for some time because if  ever a man was complicated, Morgan was. The way he had listened to her  when she'd spoken about her childhood, the hungry look in the beautiful  blue eyes … 'Busy,' she said flatly. 'Very busy, with no time to waste.'

Beth cocked an eyebrow sardonically.

'Well, he is.' Willow swallowed the last of her chocolate and stood up. 'I have to be going, thanks for lunch.'

'Pleasure.' Beth reached out and took her hands. 'I'm just going to say one more thing and then I'll shut up.'

Willow eyed her sister apprehensively. She recognised the tone. Whatever Beth was going to say, she wouldn't like it.

'Piers was the biggest mistake you'd ever made in your life and you're  incredibly well rid of him,' Beth said steadily. 'But what would be an  even bigger mistake is to let him influence the rest of your life in a  negative way by shutting yourself away from the prospect of love.' She  shook Willow's hands, squeezing them tightly. 'Love might come ten years  from now, but it might not. It might be tomorrow. Life isn't guaranteed  to come in neat packages when we're ready for it. Just … don't close your  mind to anything. That's what I'm saying. Don't miss the opportunity of  something great.'