her. It had been an introduction into a realm she’d never imagined even existed. She’d loved Piers—at first, that was—but his lovemaking had never done what one kiss from Morgan had accomplished.
Her green eyes darkened but, telling herself she had to follow his lead and lighten the mood, she nodded and smiled. ‘You’re right,’ she said as casually as she could manage.
He returned the smile. ‘Of course I’m right,’ he said lazily. ‘It goes with the name.’ Shutting the French doors, he locked them and then turned to where she was standing, leaning forward and touching her lips lightly with his before she’d realised what he was going to do. ‘We’re friends,’ he said easily, taking her arm and leading her out of the cottage into the warm October shadows, ‘so relax. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.’
Willow took a breath and tried to ignore what the feel of his warm flesh on hers was doing to her equilibrium. She might not have anything to fear from Morgan—although that was a mute point—but she had plenty to fear from herself where this man was concerned. She had to remember that and be on her guard. Morgan had been kind to her and she was grateful, but there was much more to him than met the eye. Much more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
W ILLOW awoke in her own bed the next morning and listened to the faint echo of the bells in the village church calling the faithful to the Sunday morning service. Sunlight spilled through the window but the air was cool as she slipped out of bed and made her way downstairs to the kitchen wrapped in her thick robe. It was sparkling clean after Morgan’s spring clean.
After making herself a pot of coffee she poured a cup and wandered through to the sitting room. The sofa and chair were still a little damp from Morgan’s ministrations the day before and so she opened the French doors and sat on the steps, much as he’d done. The air was actually warmer in the garden than it was in the house, she thought with a stab of surprise. The solid walls of the cottage had the effect of cooling the rooms somewhat. Morgan had given her the name and telephone number of a local plumber the night before so she could see about having central heating fitted before the worst of the winter.
Morgan…She bit down on her bottom lip pensively. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman after that one scorching kiss. They’d eaten Kitty’s wonderful dinner,talked, laughed a little and enjoyed coffee with a fine liqueur before he’d seen her home to her front door. He’d tucked her hand through his arm as they had walked the short distance down his drive and into the lane before reaching the cottage, and although she’d known it was merely a casual gesture it had seemed strangely intimate to feel the pressure of his body close to hers. Once at her door she had prepared herself for the goodnight kiss. Only it hadn’t come. Not even a fleeting peck like the one he’d given her after the scorcher. She could have been his maiden aunt, she thought crossly.
Willow frowned to herself, inhaling the fragrant scent of coffee as she idly watched two blue tits hanging from a nut feeder she’d hung from one of the trees bordering the garden, their distinct blue crests on tiny black and white heads vivid in the sunshine.
Not that she had wanted him to kiss her, she assured herself firmly. The close embrace hours before had been enough to convince her that where Morgan was concerned she’d be playing with fire. No, far better to keep it light and easy. And that was exactly what he’d done. Her frown deepened. Which was fine.
She finished the coffee and fetched another cup, settling herself down again in the same spot and feeling intensely irritable.
She was being ridiculous. She nodded to the thought. And hypocritical, which was the one human failing she loathed above all others. A hot arrow of guilt pierced her. She couldn’t insist Morgan kept his hands—and his mouth—to himself and
Her green eyes darkened but, telling herself she had to follow his lead and lighten the mood, she nodded and smiled. ‘You’re right,’ she said as casually as she could manage.
He returned the smile. ‘Of course I’m right,’ he said lazily. ‘It goes with the name.’ Shutting the French doors, he locked them and then turned to where she was standing, leaning forward and touching her lips lightly with his before she’d realised what he was going to do. ‘We’re friends,’ he said easily, taking her arm and leading her out of the cottage into the warm October shadows, ‘so relax. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.’
Willow took a breath and tried to ignore what the feel of his warm flesh on hers was doing to her equilibrium. She might not have anything to fear from Morgan—although that was a mute point—but she had plenty to fear from herself where this man was concerned. She had to remember that and be on her guard. Morgan had been kind to her and she was grateful, but there was much more to him than met the eye. Much more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
W ILLOW awoke in her own bed the next morning and listened to the faint echo of the bells in the village church calling the faithful to the Sunday morning service. Sunlight spilled through the window but the air was cool as she slipped out of bed and made her way downstairs to the kitchen wrapped in her thick robe. It was sparkling clean after Morgan’s spring clean.
After making herself a pot of coffee she poured a cup and wandered through to the sitting room. The sofa and chair were still a little damp from Morgan’s ministrations the day before and so she opened the French doors and sat on the steps, much as he’d done. The air was actually warmer in the garden than it was in the house, she thought with a stab of surprise. The solid walls of the cottage had the effect of cooling the rooms somewhat. Morgan had given her the name and telephone number of a local plumber the night before so she could see about having central heating fitted before the worst of the winter.
Morgan…She bit down on her bottom lip pensively. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman after that one scorching kiss. They’d eaten Kitty’s wonderful dinner,talked, laughed a little and enjoyed coffee with a fine liqueur before he’d seen her home to her front door. He’d tucked her hand through his arm as they had walked the short distance down his drive and into the lane before reaching the cottage, and although she’d known it was merely a casual gesture it had seemed strangely intimate to feel the pressure of his body close to hers. Once at her door she had prepared herself for the goodnight kiss. Only it hadn’t come. Not even a fleeting peck like the one he’d given her after the scorcher. She could have been his maiden aunt, she thought crossly.
Willow frowned to herself, inhaling the fragrant scent of coffee as she idly watched two blue tits hanging from a nut feeder she’d hung from one of the trees bordering the garden, their distinct blue crests on tiny black and white heads vivid in the sunshine.
Not that she had wanted him to kiss her, she assured herself firmly. The close embrace hours before had been enough to convince her that where Morgan was concerned she’d be playing with fire. No, far better to keep it light and easy. And that was exactly what he’d done. Her frown deepened. Which was fine.
She finished the coffee and fetched another cup, settling herself down again in the same spot and feeling intensely irritable.
She was being ridiculous. She nodded to the thought. And hypocritical, which was the one human failing she loathed above all others. A hot arrow of guilt pierced her. She couldn’t insist Morgan kept his hands—and his mouth—to himself and
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