Sweet Surrender with the Millionaire

She had been totally straight with him; he knew she had no intention of sleeping with him. That being the case, she had nothing to lose. Nothing at all. Did she?

CHAPTER NINE

WILLOW and Morgan ate at a little restaurant tucked away in a small market town some twenty miles away that night. When he arrived at the cottage he was driving the Aston Martin and the beautiful car added to the worries that had crowded in the minute he’d left. Morgan was way, way out of her league, she told herself as he helped her into the passenger seat and shut the door quietly, the doubts that had been rampant since the morning crowding in. Seeing him like this was going against everything she’d decided for the future on breaking with Piers. How could she be so stupid, so fickle? This was such a mistake.

Contrary to her fears at the beginning of the evening, they enjoyed a night of easy talk and easy laughter, and when Morgan dropped her home he declined her offer of a nightcap and left her on the doorstep with a firm, confident kiss that kept her warm until she was in bed.

The next day Kitty cooked Sunday lunch for them and they took the dogs for a long walk in the surrounding countryside in the afternoon, talking the whole time—about his work, hers, plays and films they’d seen and books they’d read. Nothing too deep and nothing too personal. She didn’t stay for tea, saying she’d brought some work home to do, which wasn’t true, and that she had to move stuff in the cottage so Jeff could start work in the morning, which was true.

By the next weekend Jeff had finished the job and the cottage was blissfully warm. Willow had never realised until the last couple of weeks what a perfectly wonderful invention radiators were, and she found herself touching them in thankfulness every time she passed. They’d transformed her home.

Beth invited herself and Peter for Saturday lunch on the excuse they wanted to drop in her housewarming present—a lovely stone birdbath for the garden—although Willow was fully aware her sister was hoping to see Morgan. She’d told Beth she was seeing Morgan occasionally—as friends, she’d emphasised—and Beth had been instantly agog but she’d resisted saying more.

She hadn’t mentioned Beth’s visit to Morgan when he’d phoned her in the week to invite her out to dinner on Saturday night. She didn’t want him to think she was hinting he come and meet her sister, or that he stay away—depending on which way he took it—and neither did she want Beth forming an opinion about Morgan yet. If they met and Beth thought he was the bee’s knees that would create one set of potential problems, and conversely if her sister and Peter didn’t take to Morgan that would cause difficulty in another way. No, it was far better to maintain the status quo for the time being.

Saturday turned out to be the sort of mellow English autumn day that inspired poets to pen the odd sonnet or two, and after lunch it was warm enough to take their coffee into the garden and sit on the ancient wooden benches she’d uncovered in the midst of what had been a jungle.

The trees surrounding the garden were now clothed in a mantle of gold, bronze and orange, the sky was a bright cloudless blue and a host of birds were twittering and squabbling and enjoying the sunshine. They watched as a robin, braver than the rest of its feathered kind, explored the new bird bath, which Willow had filled earlier. He had a great time splashing around.

‘This is lovely.’ Beth breathed in the air, one hand resting on the swell of her stomach. ‘So peaceful.’

They sat for a long time idly chatting, and when Beth dozed off with her head resting on Peter’s shoulder and he whispered she’d been awake most of the night due to the baby deciding it was football practice, Willow fetched a warm throw from the house to tuck around her sister and then sat listening to Peter’s plans for the baby’s future, which seemed to revolve around his favourite football club.

The gentle shadows of dusk had been encroaching for some time when Willow glanced surreptitiously at her watch. Morgan was due to arrive at seven and it was getting late. She fetched Peter another coffee, making sure she was none too quiet about it, but Beth didn’t stir. After another twenty minutes she threw diplomacy to the wind. ‘I’m going out at seven,’ she said, when Peter refused the offer of more coffee, ‘and don’t you think it’s getting chilly out here now the light’s all but gone?’

Peter smiled blithely. ‘We’re fine,’ he said, tucking the throw more securely round his sleeping wife, ‘but don’t let me stop you getting ready.’

Men! She loved her brother-in-law and she couldn’t think of a better husband for Beth or father for their child, but right at that moment she could have kicked him. Somewhat helplessly, she tried again. ‘I’d hate for you to get bitten. I noticed a couple of mosquitos earlier.’