Sweet Surrender with the Millionaire

Shaking her head at the naive girl she had been then, Willow made her way downstairs. On entering the sitting room she was slightly alarmed by the roaring fire, although it had warmed the room up nicely. Hastily banking down the flames with some damp slack, she walked through to the kitchen and made herself another coffee. Give it a few minutes and she’d toast the crumpets she’d bought for her tea in front of the fire once it was glowing red; there was nothing nicer than toasted crumpets with lashings of butter. And this was definitely a comfort night.

She had just picked up the mug of coffee when a sharp pounding on her front door almost made her drop it. Her nerves jangling, she hurried into the tiny hall and opened the door, her eyes widening as she took in the tall dark man in front of her. And he looked just as angry as when she’d first seen him.

‘Are you aware your chimney’s on fire?’ Morgan said grimly.

‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Look.’ To her amazement she found herself hauled forward by a hard hand on her arm as he pointed to the roof of the cottage. Massive flames were lighting the night sky.

Wrenching herself free, Willow stared aghast at the chimney. Never having lived in a house that accommodated coal fires, she’d had no idea a chimney could catch fire.

‘I’ve called the fire brigade and they should be here shortly.’ Even as he spoke the sound of a siren in the distance could be heard coming rapidly nearer.

‘You called the fire brigade?’ Willow echoed in horror. ‘Can’t it just go out? I won’t put any more coal on.’

‘Are you serious?’ Morgan stared at her through the rain, which had settled down to a fine drizzle. ‘You could lose the whole cottage. The chimney is on fire, for pity’s sake.’

‘But a chimney is supposed to have smoke and flames go up it,’ she answered sharply. ‘That’s what they do.’

‘Up it, yes. If it catches fire that’s a whole different ball game. Did you have it swept before you lit the first fire?’

‘Swept?’ He could have been talking double Dutch.

‘Give me strength.’

He shut his eyes for a moment in a manner that made Willow want to kick him, but then the fire engine had screeched to a halt and in the ensuing pandemonium she forgot about Morgan.

Half an hour later the fire engine and the very nice firemen left and Willow stood staring at the devastation in her sitting room. She was barely aware of Morgan at the side of her until he murmured, ‘What is it with you and fire anyway?’

She wanted to come back at him with a cutting retort, but she knew if she tried to speak she would cry. Swallowing hard, she picked her way across the wet, sooty floor and reached for the photograph of her parents on the mantelpiece. Wiping the black spots off the glass, she held the photograph to her when she turned to face him. ‘Thank—thank you for calling the fire brigade.’ The fireman had said she’d been minutes away from having a major catastrophe on her hands. ‘I want to start cleaning up now, so if you don’t mind…’

He didn’t take the hint. ‘I’ll help you mop up the worst and then I suggest you leave the main clearing up till tomorrow. Nothing will seem so bad after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast.’

Willow stared round the room and her expression must have spoken volumes because Morgan smiled the lopsided grin that she’d registered the first time she had met him before saying wryly, ‘OK, it might, but this’ll take hours and it’ll be better in daylight.’ He shivered, adding, ‘Haven’t you any heating in this place? It’s as cold in here as it is outside.’

Willow’s eyes went involuntarily to the blackened fireplace.

‘No central heating? No storage heaters or fan heaters?’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but I will do something soon.’

‘OK, this is what we do,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘We mop up like I said and then you’re coming home with me for a hot meal and a bath before you spend the night at my place. I’ll bring you back in the morning and we’ll tackle the cleaning then. At least you’ll be in a better frame of mind to cope.’

Was he mad? Adrenalin surged in a welcome flood, enabling her to straighten and say steadily, ‘Thank you, Mr Wright, but that’s really not necessary. I can manage perfectly well.’

‘I’ve seen the results of you managing…twice.’

Willow’s chin raised a notch. ‘Thank you,’ she said for the third time, her voice thin, ‘but I’d like to be on my own now. I’m not a child so please don’t treat me like one.’