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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…
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.’
And talking to yourself was the first sign of madness.
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