Sweet Surrender With the Millionaire(19)

       
           



       

Willow stared at her sister's concerned face through misty eyes and then  leant against her for a moment as Beth's arms tightened around her.  Beth had spoken as their mother might have done. Then she jerked away,  her gaze flashing to Beth's stomach. 'Wow, that was a kick if ever I  felt one,' she said in awe. 'Does it often do that?'

'All the time,' Beth said ruefully. 'Especially when I settle down to  sleep. Peter's convinced there's a worldclass footballer in there. He'll  be so surprised if it's a girl.'

They smiled at each other, and after a brief hug Willow left to drive  back to work. Much as she loved her sister, she wasn't sorry to leave.  The inquisition had been a little rigorous.

Once seated at her desk, however, Willow found melancholy had her in its  grip. Feeling the vigorous power of the new life in Beth's stomach had  brought home to her yet again all she was going to miss in never having a  family of her own. The baby couldn't have known, of course, but it was  as though it had been determined to emphasise every word its mother had  spoken.

Was she letting Piers influence her even now, subtly control her  decisions and her plans for the future? She had never looked at it this  way before, but perhaps Beth was right.

The thought panicked her, brought the blood pounding in her ears, and she gasped as though she were drowning.

No, she couldn't risk getting it wrong again. She had thought Piers  loved her, that they were going to grow old together with children and  grandchildren, that he would protect and cherish her. Instead … She  gulped, drawing in much-needed breaths as she willed herself to calm  down. Instead she'd placed herself in a living nightmare, the  culmination of which had threatened to break her. She couldn't go  through that again.

She shut her eyes tightly but she could still see Piers' enraged face on  the screen of her mind, hear his curses as he had sent his plate  spinning to the floor with a flick of his hand. Such a small thing to  signify the end of a marriage-potatoes that were slightly too hard in  the centre-but if it hadn't been that it would have been something else.  His control over her by that time had been obsessional and she had  lived in fear of displeasing him in some way. Her confidence had gone;  she'd been a shell of her former self. Piers had told her she was  useless in bed and nothing to look at, stupid, dull and boring, and she  had believed him. But that night something had snapped and she'd yelled  back at him, telling him some home truths that had caught him on the  raw.

It had been the first time he had resorted to physical abuse, and when  he had hit her she had hit him back, fighting with all her might when  he'd laid into her. Their neighbours had called the police and by the  time they'd arrived she had been barely conscious, but lucid enough to  realise that but for the police's pounding at their door his intention  had been to rape her. That knowledge had been the most horrific thing of  all.

The divorce had been quick and final and he hadn't even contested it,  realising he had gone too far and his hold over her was finished. Her  love had turned to hate and he'd known it.

She opened her eyes, staring down at the papers on her desk without  seeing them, lost in her dark thoughts. How could something she had  thought so good, so fine, have turned out to be so bad, a lie from start  to finish? Some months after the divorce one of her friends had told  her she'd heard Piers had married again. Someone from his office  apparently and, her friend had murmured, the word was Piers had been  seeing this girl when he was still married to Willow. She had looked her  friend full in the face and told her the girl had her sympathy. And it  was true. She had. No one deserved Piers.

Willow sat for a moment more and then her shoulders came back and she  straightened. She had work to do. No more thinking. And anyway, Morgan  hadn't asked to see her again, she reminded herself, as though that  sorted everything out. Which it did, certainly for the immediate future.

She was the last one to leave her particular office at six o'clock  although there were still a couple of lights on in other parts of the  building when she walked out to the car park after saying goodnight to  the security man. The night was windy but dry and she drove home  carefully, conscious she was tired, both emotionally and physically.  Tomorrow morning she had the chimney sweep coming and she couldn't wait  to be able to light a fire in the sitting room again, and in the  afternoon the plumber Morgan had recommended was coming to look round  the cottage and give her a quote for central heating. Tonight, though,  the cottage was cold and faintly damp, and it didn't do anything for her  mood as she fixed herself a sandwich and a hot drink in the kitchen.  The last few nights she'd gone to bed with a jumper and bedsocks over  her pyjamas, and three hotwater bottles positioned at strategic parts of  her body.                       
       
           



       

She went to bed early, once again cocooned like an Eskimo and fell  asleep immediately, curled under the duvet like a small animal, waking  just before her alarm clock went off at eight. Her nose was cold but the  rest of her was as warm as toast and she stretched, willing herself to  get out of bed and face the chill.

An hour later she'd washed, dressed and had breakfast and was waiting  for the chimney sweep. After a gloomy, rain-filled week the weather had  done one of its mercurial transformations. Bright sunshine was spilling  through the cottage windows and all was golden light. Her mood, too, had  changed. She was in love with her little home again and the future  wasn't the black hole she had stared into the night before, but  something laced with expectation and hope. Life was good and she was  fortunate.

She wasn't sure if she could ever fully trust a man again or take the  step Beth had spoken about yesterday, but somehow it didn't seem such an  urgent obstacle today but something that would take care of itself.  Shrugging at her inconsistency, she made another pot of coffee and was  just taking her first sip when a knock came at the front door.

Absolutely sure it was the chimney sweep, she flung open the door  saying, 'Am I pleased to see you', and then felt an instant tightening  in her stomach as her heart did a somersault.

'Thank you. I didn't expect such a warm welcome.' Morgan was leaning  against the door post, his black hair shining in the sunlight and his  blue eyes crinkled with a smile.

'I thought you were the chimney sweep,' she said weakly, knowing she'd turned beetroot red. 'I'm waiting for him.'

'Don't spoil it.'

'I-He'll be here in a-a minute.' Oh, for goodness' sake, pull yourself  together, she told herself scathingly, hearing her stammer with disgust,  but the knowledge had suddenly hit that part of the uplift in her mood  had been because there'd been a chance of running into Morgan during the  weekend. 'Come in,' she said belatedly, standing aside for him to enter  and trying to ignore what the smell of his aftershave did to her senses  as he walked past her. 'I've just made some coffee, if you'd like one?  And there's toast and preserves in the kitchen.'

'Sounds good.'

Like before he seemed to fill the cottage; the very air seemed to  crackle when he was around. Leading the way into the kitchen, she said  carefully, 'The guy you recommended for the central heating is coming  round this afternoon.' Keep it friendly and informal, nothing heavy,  Willow. Don't ask him why he's here, much as you'd like to. 'He seemed  very nice on the phone. Very helpful and friendly.'

'Jeff? Yeh, he's a good local contact,' Morgan said a trifle absently. 'He'll do a good job for you.'

'He's just had a cancellation, apparently, and thinks he'd be able to start work this coming week if we agree on a price.'

'That's fortunate. Snap him up and get the job done.'

She turned to face him, an unexpected quiver running through her as she  glanced at him standing in the doorway, big and dark and tough-looking.  Only somehow she didn't think he was quite as tough as he'd like people  to believe, not deep inside. 'White or black?' she asked flatly, not  liking the way her thoughts had gone.

'Black,' he said almost impatiently, before adding, 'Thanks.'

After pouring Morgan a coffee she picked up her own and walked over to  him, intending they go and sit in the sitting room. Only he didn't move  from the doorway, taking his mug but his eyes moving over her face as he  murmured, 'I've thought of you all week, do you know that? I've thought  of nothing but you.'

Willow stared at him. His tone had been one of selfdeprecation, even  annoyance, and she didn't know how to respond. Raising her chin  slightly, she said, 'Do you expect me to apologise?'

There was a brief silence and then he smiled, humour briefly sparkling  in his eyes. 'No, just to listen to me while I explain where I'm coming  from. Will you do that?'