Morgan smiled bitterly. He’d vowed every day of his childhood and teenage years that he would make something of himself, if only to show the relatives who had treated him so shamefully that he’d had the last laugh. And one by one they’d come sniffing around once he’d made his first million or two, hands held out. It had given him great satisfaction to tell them exactly where they could go.
Yes, until a few weeks ago he’d been satisfied he had everything a man could possibly wish for in life. Until Willow. He’d really thought he was getting somewhere with her the last little while, though; there had been something different about her since that night when he had surprised her by walking away.
He should have taken her and be damned, he told himself savagely in the next moment, spinning on his heel so sharply that the dogs—scattered about the floor—rose as one to their feet with low barks. If he had taken her that night she would probably have been in his arms right now. But he had wanted more than the pleasure of her company in bed; he still did, more fool him. He had slept with many women in his time but until Willow he hadn’t wanted to make love with one, and there was a difference. Oh, yes, there was a difference.
‘Enough,’ he muttered as he crossed the hall. He was going to have a drink. In fact more than one. A lot more. Enough so that when he closed his eyes tonight he would sleep without thinking or dreaming. Oblivion would be sweet tonight.
The sound of the front door bell stopped him in his tracks and sent the dogs charging to perform their canine duty of repelling invaders. Morgan frowned. Who the dickens was that on a night like this? Someone who’d broken down possibly, but he had never felt less like playing the good Samaritan in his life. He could do nothing less than answer the door, though.
One sharp word of command brought the pack of dogs slinking behind him, ears pricked and eyes narrowed, as he opened the door.
‘I’m so sorry, Morgan.’ She was speaking before he’d even got the door properly open. ‘I would never have bothered you normally but Beth’s in the hospital and I have to get there and my car won’t start and the taxi cabs are refusing to turn out—’
‘Hey, hey, hey.’ He interrupted the frantic gabble by reaching out and drawing the snow-covered figure into the warmth of the house. ‘Slowly now. From the beginning, Willow.’
‘Peter phoned me. Beth’s had a fall and the baby’s coming early and she wants me there. I promised, Morgan, but my car won’t start and no taxis are running because of the weather. I didn’t know what to do…’
‘Yes, you did,’ he said quietly. ‘You came to me and I’ll sort it. The snow won’t bother the Range-Rover. We’ll get through. I’ll get my things. Relax, it’ll be all right.’
They stopped outside the garage block and Morgan explained to Jim what was happening, then they were on the road and on their way. Willow had always thought that snow was pretty, transforming even the dullest landscape into a winter wonderland. Tonight she hated it. It was a relentless enemy and unforgiving.
In spite of the powerful four by four’s ability to tackle the most atrocious weather conditions, she could see Morgan was having his work cut out to keep the vehicle moving steadily forward. She sat in an agony of impatience as they passed abandoned cars every few miles; the snow was forming into great drifts in places and the roads were swiftly becoming impassable. They didn’t speak; she knew Morgan needed every ounce of concentration if they were going to reach the hospital safely, but she wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. She had turned up on his doorstep needing his help—yet again—and even after all that had happened that afternoon he hadn’t hesitated or made her feel bad. His response had been immediate and unconditional. He was a man in a million.
She glanced at him under her eyelashes. He was hunched over the wheel, peering into the road ahead as the windscreen wipers laboured under their burden of snow, every muscle and sinew focused on the job in hand. She was cold, tired, worried and scared to death, but there was no one in the world she’d rather be with in this situation than Morgan. Ninety-nine out of a hundred men wouldn’t have dreamt of turning out on a night like this for a nightmare journey, certainly not for a woman who had thrown their love back in their face only hours earlier. Piers wouldn’t have put his nose out of the door for his own sister, let alone hers. She couldn’t compare Morgan to Piers, or any other man if it came to it. Morgan was Morgan, a one-off. Unique. And he loved her. As she did him.
The wind was whipping the car and great swirls of snow were blasting the windows, but for the first time since she had met Morgan the storm within Willow was quietened. Any regrets she felt about the past would be nothing to what she’d feel if she lost Morgan through her own cowardice. She hadn’t liked his straight talking earlier, but he was right—it was time to move on. Every word he’d said to her was true.