Sweet Surrender With the Millionaire(7)

Her mind couldn't quite categorise what Morgan Wright was, and after a  couple of moments she gave up the attempt and walked further into the  room. It was gorgeous-large and airy and decorated in soft shades of  silver and cream, with touches of dark chocolate in the bed-coverings  and curtains. The en-suite was equally impressive, the chocolate marble  bath sunk into the floor with elegant silver fittings and the massive  shower at the other end of the bathroom large enough for a rugby team. A  profusion of soft fluffy towels were stored on glass shelves, along  with toiletries of every description. Willow even noticed two new  toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste. The two basins, toilet and bidet  were all in chocolate marble but the tiled floor, walls and ceiling,  along with the bath-linen, were the same light cream as the bedroom. And  this was just a guest room!

Willow stared at her reflection in the mirror that took up half of one wall opposite the bath. And groaned again.

Five minutes later she lay luxuriating in expensive foamy bubbles, tense  muscles slowly beginning to relax as the hot water did its job. Her  toes didn't reach the end of the bath and the marble had been formed to  provide a natural pillow for the occupant's head; she felt she could  stay in it all night.

She roused herself at one point to wash her hair, but then slid under  the water to her neck again for a last indulgent soak, and she was like  that when a knock came at the bathroom door. Shooting to her feet so  quickly she sent a wave of water washing onto the floor, she grabbed a  bath towel and wrapped it round her as she said, 'Yes? What is it?'

'It's Kitty, dear. Morgan's housekeeper. Just to say I've done my best  with your clothes for now, but if you want to leave them outside your  door when you go to bed tonight I'll have them laundered for you in the  morning so they're nice and fresh.'

'Oh, no, no, that's all right.' Willow stepped out of the bath and made  her way to the door, opening it as she said, 'Please, they'll be fine  till I get home tomorrow morning,' to the small, smiling woman waiting  outside. 'I feel bad enough arriving unannounced for dinner as it is.  I'm so sorry.'

'Go on with you.' Kitty flapped her hand. 'I'm just glad Morgan had the  sense to invite you after what happened. Men don't always think on their  feet, do they?' She winked conspiratorially.

'I guess not.' Actually she suspected Morgan would.

'Still, all's well that ends well. I can give you the name of the  chimney sweep we use if that's any help? Nice lad, he is, and he makes a  good clean job of it. Doesn't charge the earth either.'

Willow smiled ruefully into the round little face. 'If you could see the  state of my cottage right now a bit of dust and soot from a chimney  sweep would be nothing. I … I feel so stupid. You must all think I haven't  got the sense I was born with.'

Kitty, who had been airing her views on the ineptitude of 'city'  dwellers to her husband for the last twenty minutes, clicked her tongue.  'Not a bit of it, lass. How were you to know the chimney needed  sweeping? I blame the estate agent-they should point out these things as  part of their job. Quick enough to take their cut, aren't they? But  that's typical of today's generation. There's no pride in a job well  done any more, more's the pity. People do as much as they can get away  with.'

'I hope you're not including me in that statement.'

As the dark smoky voice preceded Morgan strolling into the bedroom  through the door Kitty had left open Willow's hands tightened  instinctively round the bath sheet. For a moment she had the mad impulse  to step back and shut the bathroom door but she controlled it-just. Her  eyes wide, she stared at him.                       
       
           



       

Morgan had changed into a fresh shirt and jeans and his damp hair was  slicked back from his face. The five o'clock shadow she had noticed  earlier was gone too. Ridiculously the thought of him shaving to have  dinner with her caused her stomach to tighten, even as she told herself  he probably always shaved twice a day. His open-necked grey shirt showed  the springy black hair of his chest and his black jeans were tight  across the hips. Every nerve in her body was sensitised, much to her  aggravation.

He seemed faintly surprised to see her still wrapped in a bath towel, his voice soft as he drawled, 'Not ready yet, then.'

'No, I-No. No, not yet.' Oh, for goodness' sake, pull yourself together,  girl, she told herself angrily, annoyed at her stammering. You're  perfectly decent. Only the look in his eyes hadn't made her feel that  way. Even more alarming, she had liked the warm approval turning the  blue of his eyes to deep indigo. For the first time in a long while  she'd felt … womanly.

'We'd better leave you to get ready.' Kitty took charge, her voice  suddenly brisk. 'Dinner's at eight, dear. All right? And there's a  hairdryer in the top drawer of the dressing table.'

As the little woman bustled off Morgan smiled a lazy smile. 'Red or white?' he asked softly, the words almost a caress.

'Sorry?' She hoped she didn't look as vacant as she sounded.

'The wine with our meal. Red or white?'

Her hair was dripping over her face and all she wanted was to end this  conversation and put a door between them. 'Red, please.' Actually she  didn't mind but she wasn't going to say that.

One eyebrow lifted. 'Funny. I'd got you down as a white-wine girl,' he said easily.

In spite of herself she couldn't resist asking, 'Oh, yes? Why?' even as  she mentally kicked herself for giving him the opportunity for more  mockery. As if he needed an opportunity!

He shrugged. 'Girls of a certain age seem to go for white wine.' He smiled charmingly. 'Or that's what I've found.'

Did they indeed? And of course a man like Morgan Wright would know. The  green eyes he'd spoke about narrowed. 'What age is that?' she asked  evenly, determined to show no reaction.

'Twenty, twenty-one.'

Willow didn't know whether to feel pleased or insulted. If he was  judging her age purely on her appearance, then that was fine, but if  this was another way of saying she was silly and immature … Warily, she  said, 'It's my twenty-ninth birthday in a few weeks.' And make of that  what you will.

'You're joking.' He let his gaze travel over her body, top to toes. 'It's obviously a gene thing.'

It was actually. Beth looked years younger than she was and their mother  had often been taken as their older sister. She nodded. 'Advantage as  one gets older but definitely irritating when you're asked for ID at a  nightclub,' she said as coolly as she could considering her face had  decided to explode with colour again.

He didn't seem to notice her discomfiture. 'Never had that problem  myself,' he said with a crooked smile. 'I think I was born looking  twenty-one.'

Willow could believe it. Morgan Wright was one of those men who made it  impossible to imagine him as a child. The flagrant masculinity was so  raw, so tough and virile she couldn't envisage him as a vulnerable  little boy. She shivered although she wasn't cold.

'Sorry, this is undoing all the good work the hot bath's done. You get  dressed and I'll see you downstairs. The sitting room is to your right  once you're in the hall, incidentally. ' He had turned as he spoke, and,  having reached the bedroom door, shut it quietly behind him.

Willow stared after him for a few moments before she pulled herself  together. She found the hairdryer Kitty had spoken of and dried her hair  so it fell in a sleek curtain framing her face. She was lucky with her  hair. Thick and silky, it was no trouble as long as she had a good cut.

Grimacing, she dressed in her grubby jeans and jumper, although thanks  to Kitty's ministrations they were more presentable than when she'd  arrived. Fishing out the odd bits of make-up she always kept in her  handbag for an emergency, she applied eyeshadow and mascara before  finishing with lip gloss. The result wasn't spectacular but better, and  better was good considering this man always seemed to see her when she  looked as if she'd been pulled through a hedge backwards.                       
       
           



       

She stopped titivating and stared into the green eyes in the mirror. He  must think she was some kind of nutcase and she hadn't done much to  convince him otherwise. Perhaps she was a nutcase, at that. At uni she'd  always been one of the more restrained ones, looking on with a mixture  of embarrassment and envy when some of her more wild friends had gone  skinny-dipping on a day out by the river or related their antics at the  latest wild party they'd attended. But now they were all lawyers or  doctors or 'something' in the fashion industry, and a few had successful  marriages to boot. Whereas she …

This train of thought was too depressing to follow, besides which it was  two minutes to eight. Taking a deep breath, Willow smoothed her jeans  over her hips, trying to ignore the sooty smell, and smiled at the face  in the mirror. 'You're going to be fine. He's a man, just a man, and  this is one night out of the rest of your life. It isn't a big deal so  don't make it one.'