Sweet Surrender with the Millionaire

She giggled, blushing slightly, and as he looked at her parted lips he wanted to kiss her so hard it hurt. As he raised his eyes to hers they were smiling into his and for several seconds, seconds that quivered with intimacy, their gaze held. When her eyes dropped to her plate and she ate a morsel of cake with uncharacteristic clumsiness, dropping half of it onto the worktop, he knew he had been right.

Willow Landon was no more indifferent to him than he was to her. Which presented a whole load of new problems. Big ones.

By the time Willow returned to her room all the good work the soothing hot milk had wrought was completely undone. Morgan had escorted her to the door, said goodnight very politely and disappeared along the landing to his own room without a backward glance, thereby rendering all her fears null and void.

Fears? a little voice in the back of her mind queried nastily. Don’t you mean hopes? Desires? Longings?

Her jaw tightened and she leaned back against the bedroom door, her legs trembling as she fought for control.

She was not attracted to Morgan Wright. ‘I’m not,’ she reiterated weakly, as though someone had argued the point. ‘No way, no how.’ She had no intention of getting involved with a man for a long, long time—if ever—and certainly not one like Morgan. If and when someone came along she could see herself dating now and again, he’d have to be a mild, retiring type who was easy-going and happy to meet her halfway on any issues that might crop up. Morgan didn’t meet the criteria in any direction.

Not that he’d asked her for a date, of course. And wouldn’t. It didn’t need the brain of Britain to work out the sort of female Morgan would take to bed when the need arose. Without a doubt they’d be stunningly beautiful and sexy and probably highly intelligent as well; he didn’t strike her as a man who would be satisfied with merely an accommodating body. He’d expect mental as well as physical stimulation from his partners.

Levering herself away from the door, she walked across to the bed and sank down. She had known all along it was madness to come into his home. One of the reasons she had bought the cottage was because of its secluded location. It was far enough away from the nearby village to ensure there’d be no pressure from neighbours intent on including her in this, that and the other, or—which was even more pertinent—if any tried, she could cold-shoulder them without having to bump into them each day.

She raised her head and glanced around the luxurious room, her conscience kicking in as it usually did.

She was grateful to Morgan for his help, she really was, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings or anyone else’s for that matter, but it was somehow essential that her life was her own again down to the smallest decision. She had done the whole trying-to-please-everyone thing to death. She was never going to relinquish the tiniest fragment of her autonomy again.

Wasn’t that verging on callous? questioned Soft-hearted Willow reprovingly. Wasn’t that selfish and mean?

No. It was sheer self-survival, answered Unmovable, Resolute Willow grimly. Pure and simple.

Easing out a breath, she stood up. She was going to brush her teeth and go to sleep, and if Morgan insisted on helping her clean the cottage in the morning she’d thank him sincerely when they’d finished and then that would be the end of this…She sought for a word to describe what she was feeling and then gave up. ‘Whatever,’ she muttered grumpily to herself as she marched into the en-suite to brush her teeth.

Willow awoke to bright autumn sunshine streaming in the window the next morning. Sleepily she told herself she should have closed the curtains the night before, but then she checked the time by her wristwatch and shot into a sitting position. Ten o’clock? It couldn’t be that late, surely? Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she refocused her gaze. Ten o’clock it was.

Springing out of bed, she galloped into the bathroom for a quick wash and brush-up and was dressed and ready to venture downstairs within five minutes, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her face clean and scrubbed. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. When he had left her the night before Morgan had mentioned he normally breakfasted about eight in the morning at the weekends. What must he be thinking? And Kitty—the housekeeper would obviously have expected her employer’s guest to eat with him. Yet again she had done the wrong thing.

The big house was quiet and still when Willow opened her bedroom door and stepped onto a galleried landing flooded with light. Old houses were sometimes dark and somewhat forbidding, but due to the number of large windows on every floor of this one it breathed airiness and space. She stood for a moment breathing in the slightly perfumed air, the source of the delicate scent becoming apparent when she descended the stairs and saw a huge bowl of white and yellow roses on a table at the foot of the staircase. They had obviously been arranged by Kitty earlier.