Sweet Surrender With the Millionaire(6)

'Yep.' She could see his blue eyes glittering in the deep shadows as he  turned and smiled. 'When I saw the flames I figured I'd better get round  here as fast as I could.'

She waved her hand helplessly. 'But you live next door.'

'A minute or two can make all the difference with fire. I didn't know  whether I was going to have to pull you out of a burning house at that  stage.' He shrugged. 'It can happen.'

He started the engine and the quiet of the night was rudely shattered as he drove to her gate. 'Get on.'

She had already noticed that he was even taller than she had thought him  to be when he was perched on the wall. Morgan Wright was big, very big,  and it was muscled strength that padded his shoulders and chest. In  fact he gave off an aura of strength from his face-which was rugged with  sharply defined planes and angles and no softness-to his feet, which  were encased in black leather boots. The thought of clambering up on the  bike and holding onto the hard male body was blushingly intimate, but  she could hardly walk beside him. She had no choice but to agree.

Blessing the fact she had changed from her pencil-thin office skirt to  jeans, Willow slid onto the bike, her handbag over one shoulder. Morgan  wasn't wearing a coat, just jeans and a shirt, and as she put her arms  round his waist the warmth of his body flowed through her fingers. She  felt him jerk.

'Hell, you're like a block of ice,' he muttered.

Funnily enough, she was aware of that herself. 'Sorry.'

There was no chance to say anything more before they roared off. After  some two hundred yards Morgan turned into his own grounds through open  six-foot wrought-iron gates. The drive wound through mature trees and  bushes, which hid the house from the road, but then a  bowling-green-smooth lawn came into view and the manor house was in  front of them. It was quite stunning.

The motorbike drew to a halt at the bottom of wide semicircular stone  steps, which led to a massive studded front door that could have graced a  castle. Willow could hear dogs barking from within the house and they  sounded ferocious.

'Are you OK with dogs?' Morgan asked as he helped her off the Harley. 'There's a few of them so be prepared.'

'If they're OK with me,' she said more weakly than she would have liked. 'And I prefer they don't look on me as food.'

He grinned. 'They've already been fed for the night.'

'That's comforting.'

He took her arm, leading her up the steps. 'My housekeeper and her  husband will be back shortly-they're visiting a friend in hospital-and  dinner'll be about eight, but that'll give you time for a long hot soak.  You're shaking with cold.'

Willow was glad he was already opening the door and she didn't have to  reply. For the life of her she couldn't have said if it was the icy  night air making her tremble or the enforced intimacy with the very male  man at her side. And he smelt delicious, the sort of delicious that  would cost a small fortune for a few mls and definitely came courtesy of  a designer label.

Contrary to what she had expected the dogs didn't come at them pell-mell  but in an orderly group that sat at their feet without any jostling.  'I'll introduce you and you can give the obligatory pat-that way they'll  know you're a friend and off the menu. They never eat my friends.'

Morgan's lazy tone and the laughter in his eyes informed her he was well  aware of her unease and enjoying it. Willow looked at him coldly. She  didn't know why but everything about Morgan Wright irritated her,  ungrateful though that was in the circumstances. Criminally ungrateful,  to be truthful.

Introductions finished, the pack padded off led by the large female  called Bella, much to Willow's relief. It wasn't that she disliked dogs  but she'd never had anything to do with them, either as a child or an  adult. Her mother had been allergic to most types of pet hair and  although she and Beth had had a hamster each, which they had kept in  their bedrooms, it wasn't the same as an animal free to roam like these  dogs. And they were so big, especially their jaws. In fact they  resembled wolves more than pet dogs, in her opinion. She gazed after  them, her eyes taking in the luxury of her surroundings from the pale  wood floor to the beautiful paintings adorning the cream walls in the  massive hall. Everything was perfect.                       
       
           



       

She suddenly became aware that Morgan was looking at her with  unconcealed appraisal. 'Freckles,' he said, as though that made up the  sum total of her appearance. 'Lots of them.'

She inwardly winced. The hundreds of freckles that covered most of her  creamy skin had been the bane of her life from when she was first teased  about them at nursery school. Reminding herself that he was going the  extra mile in being neighbourly and that he had probably saved her  cottage-if not her life-this night, she forced herself to smile and say,  'Goes with the hair, I'm afraid. But you learn to live with what you  can't change.'

'You don't like them? I do.' He continued to study her.

If he were covered in an infinity of them he might think differently.  Willow shrugged. 'There's worse things to contend with than freckles.'  Much worse.

His gaze hadn't left her face. 'And your eyes are truly green without a fleck of brown. Unusual.'

She wasn't about to stand there like a lemon submitting to his scrutiny.  Moving past him, she looked to where a magnificent winding staircase  led to a galleried first floor. 'This is a beautiful house. How long  have you lived here?'

'Just over ten years.' It was as if she had reminded him to play the  host as he added, 'Can I get you a drink or would you like that bath  first? Or both, come to it.'

'The bath, please.' The bright lighting in the hall had brought an  awareness that her jeans and jumper were covered in soot and she must  look like something the cat had dragged in. Morgan's jeans and shirt  were bearing evidence of the events of the evening too. Somehow, though,  he still looked good.

'I think I'll join you.' As her eyes shot to meet his a dawning mockery  in the blue gaze made it clear that he knew the conclusion she'd jumped  to. 'Not literally, of course,' he added smoothly. 'You in your bath and  me in mine.'

The second bane of her life, which again went with the red hair, rushed  in on a tide of crimson. She didn't blush quite so readily these days  but this one was a corker and she knew it. 'Of course,' she managed with  a coolness that was rendered null and void by her beetroot face. 'What  else?'

'What else indeed.' He smiled gently.

Hateful man. OK, he might have the good Samaritan thing down to a fine  art, but he hadn't stopped laughing at her since the first moment they'd  met, except when he was yelling insults, that was. He'd already made it  quite clear he thought she was the original hare-brained female, and  she wasn't. She wasn't. She had survived a destructive marriage and  built a new life for herself, and that alone merited enough Brownie  points to fill the ocean. Several oceans on several planets.

'I'll show you your room.' Morgan's voice was pleasant and Willow nodded  her head with what she hoped was dignified hauteur. She thought she saw  his lips twist, but maybe not.

He stood aside for her to precede him when they reached the staircase,  and she found she had almost forgotten how to walk as she climbed the  stairs. Her jeans were old and had shrunk to fit her body like a  comfortable second skin, but it didn't feel so comfortable with the  laser-like blue eyes behind her. The old adage of 'does my bum look big  in this?' was at the forefront of her mind with each step. It didn't  make for easy walking.

When they reached the wide gracious landing Morgan led her to the first  door on their left, pausing and opening it before he said, 'You should  find everything you need in the en-suite and there's a robe and slippers  in the wardrobe.'

'Thank you.' She smiled politely. 'You're very kind.'

'See you downstairs later for that drink.'

She nodded, fairly scuttling into the bedroom and shutting the door  behind her. Only then did she let out her breath in a long sigh. She'd  been mad to come here; whatever had possessed her? She didn't do things  like this. She had always envied people who acted impulsively and took  risks, knowing she was the exact opposite herself. Not that spending the  night at a neighbour's house in such circumstances was exactly a risk …                        
       
           



       

A mental image of Morgan Wright came to mind and she groaned softly. Or  it wouldn't be if the neighbour in question were any other than Morgan.  But no, she was being silly. What did she think he was going to do, for  goodness' sake? Steal into her bedroom and have his wicked way with her  like the villain in an old black and white movie? He'd offered her a bed  and a hot meal for the night, that was all, and she ought to be  grateful. She was grateful, but she wished he weren't so …