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
