Sweet Surrender with the Millionaire

She went to bed early, once again cocooned like an Eskimo and fell asleep immediately, curled under the duvet like a small animal, waking just before her alarm clock went off at eight. Her nose was cold but the rest of her was as warm as toast and she stretched, willing herself to get out of bed and face the chill.

An hour later she’d washed, dressed and had breakfast and was waiting for the chimney sweep. After a gloomy, rain-filled week the weather had done one of its mercurial transformations. Bright sunshine was spilling through the cottage windows and all was golden light. Her mood, too, had changed. She was in love with her little home again and the future wasn’t the black hole she had stared into the night before, but something laced with expectation and hope. Life was good and she was fortunate.

She wasn’t sure if she could ever fully trust a man again or take the step Beth had spoken about yesterday, but somehow it didn’t seem such an urgent obstacle today but something that would take care of itself. Shrugging at her inconsistency, she made another pot of coffee and was just taking her first sip when a knock came at the front door.

Absolutely sure it was the chimney sweep, she flung open the door saying, ‘Am I pleased to see you’, and then felt an instant tightening in her stomach as her heart did a somersault.

‘Thank you. I didn’t expect such a warm welcome.’ Morgan was leaning against the door post, his black hair shining in the sunlight and his blue eyes crinkled with a smile.

‘I thought you were the chimney sweep,’ she said weakly, knowing she’d turned beetroot red. ‘I’m waiting for him.’

‘Don’t spoil it.’

‘I—He’ll be here in a—a minute.’ Oh, for goodness’ sake, pull yourself together, she told herself scathingly, hearing her stammer with disgust, but the knowledge had suddenly hit that part of the uplift in her mood had been because there’d been a chance of running into Morgan during the weekend. ‘Come in,’ she said belatedly, standing aside for him to enter and trying to ignore what the smell of his aftershave did to her senses as he walked past her. ‘I’ve just made some coffee, if you’d like one? And there’s toast and preserves in the kitchen.’

‘Sounds good.’

Like before he seemed to fill the cottage; the very air seemed to crackle when he was around. Leading the way into the kitchen, she said carefully, ‘The guy you recommended for the central heating is coming round this afternoon.’ Keep it friendly and informal, nothing heavy, Willow. Don’t ask him why he’s here, much as you’d like to. ‘He seemed very nice on the phone. Very helpful and friendly.’

‘Jeff? Yeh, he’s a good local contact,’ Morgan said a trifle absently. ‘He’ll do a good job for you.’

‘He’s just had a cancellation, apparently, and thinks he’d be able to start work this coming week if we agree on a price.’

‘That’s fortunate. Snap him up and get the job done.’

She turned to face him, an unexpected quiver running through her as she glanced at him standing in the doorway, big and dark and tough-looking. Only somehow she didn’t think he was quite as tough as he’d like people to believe, not deep inside. ‘White or black?’ she asked flatly, not liking the way her thoughts had gone.

‘Black,’ he said almost impatiently, before adding, ‘Thanks.’

After pouring Morgan a coffee she picked up her own and walked over to him, intending they go and sit in the sitting room. Only he didn’t move from the doorway, taking his mug but his eyes moving over her face as he murmured, ‘I’ve thought of you all week, do you know that? I’ve thought of nothing but you.’

Willow stared at him. His tone had been one of selfdeprecation, even annoyance, and she didn’t know how to respond. Raising her chin slightly, she said, ‘Do you expect me to apologise?’

There was a brief silence and then he smiled, humour briefly sparkling in his eyes. ‘No, just to listen to me while I explain where I’m coming from. Will you do that?’

She was spared an answer by the real chimney sweep banging on the front door. ‘I’ll have to let him in.’

He stood for a moment more and then let her through. ‘I’ll hang around till he goes, if that’s OK?’

She turned just before she opened the front door. ‘Yes, that’s OK,’ she said quietly, blessing the fact the turmoil within wasn’t evident in her voice.

The next hour was the longest of her life, but eventually Mr George—a burly, red-cheeked man with a wide smile—had removed his covers and other paraphernalia, finished his coffee and cake, and left, and all without making one spot of soot fall on her newly cleaned sitting room. He and Morgan had chatted about local goings-on while he’d worked, and between them they’d eaten most of the cherry cake she’d bought the day before. Willow found she was immensely irritated by the ease with which Morgan had conducted himself, especially because her insides had caught into a giant knot and her heart seemed determined to jump out of her chest every time she looked at him.