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A slight noise in the doorway brought their heads turning. Willow was standing there and he suspected she’d heard his last remark from the colour in her cheeks. As if that weren’t enough the sight of her—hair falling to her shoulders in silken strands, eyes as green as emeralds and her soft, half-open mouth—sent a jolt of desire sizzling through his veins. Mentally cursing Kitty and her matchmaking and not least the primal urges this young red-haired woman seemed able to inspire so easily, Morgan decided prevarication wasn’t an option. As Kitty beat a hasty retreat he said quietly, ‘Sorry, you obviously weren’t supposed to hear that.’
‘Obviously.’ The green eyes were as cold as glass.
Damn it. Following the line that honesty was the best policy, Morgan shrugged. ‘The thing is, Kitty tries to pair me off with any and every woman who strays across her path. It must be her age. Menopausal hormones out of control or something.’
The attempt at humour was met with a steely face. ‘Let me endeavour to make one thing perfectly clear, Mr Wright. I wouldn’t have you if you were the last man in the world and came wrapped in gold encrusted with diamonds.’
Certainly clear enough. ‘The very point I was attempting to make to Kitty.’ His mouth took on a rueful quirk. ‘I was trying to save you any embarrassment because Kitty can be a little…persistent when she gets a bee in her bonnet. In the event I seem to have made a pig’s ear of things.’
The green gaze continued to study him for a moment.
Morgan felt he understood how an insect felt when impaled on a pin. Then he saw her head go back as she strolled further into the room. ‘No problem,’ she said coolly. ‘Just so we are absolutely clear.’
Morgan was well versed with women and he knew he was still in deep water. ‘Cocktail?’ he offered as Willow held out her hands to the blazing fire in the deep, ornate fireplace, her back to him. ‘I always indulge when I’m at home at the weekends.’
She didn’t look at him when she said, ‘Thank you, a margarita would be nice.’ Her voice verged on icy.
Morgan prided himself on his margaritas. After filling a mixing glass with ice and stirring with a spoon, he tipped the ice away before topping up the glass with fresh. A dash of dry vermouth and he continued stirring, aware the figure by the fire had turned to watch him. After straining the liquid he again added more ice, along with a large measure of vodka.
It was when he strained the cocktail into a frosted martini glass rimmed with salt that Willow said, ‘Don’t tell me. You used to be a cocktail waiter in your youth.’
His youth? He wasn’t exactly at the age to push up daisies yet. Smiling, he handed her the cocktail. Her fingers touched his for a moment and a light electric current shot up his arm. ‘I worked in a cocktail bar for extra money during my uni days,’ he admitted easily. ‘It was a good job. I enjoyed it.’
‘One of those where you throw the bottles over your head and at each other?’ she asked with sweet venom.
His laugh was hearty and he saw her lips twitch in response. ‘The very same. At the weekends we put on quite a show.’
‘Dream job for a student, I should imagine?’
‘You better believe it. On lean days we’d fill up on the snacks and stuff the owner put out for the clients; he knew but he didn’t mind, not while we were pulling the punters in. The tips were great too; lots of rich Americans looking for some fun and entertainment with their drinks.’
‘Lady Americans?’ she enquired too casually.
His smile deepened. ‘Is that disapproval in your voice?’
‘Of course not.’ She tossed her head. ‘Why would it be?’
He watched with interest as her blush became brilliant. Putting her out of her misery, he busied himself fixing his second Negroni as he said casually, ‘Myself and the other guy in the bar were propositioned now and again as it happens. Ladies looking for a holiday fling with no strings attached, mainly.’
He turned and saw the look on her face before she could hide it. His voice amused, he drawled, ‘You’re shocked.’
This time she didn’t deny it. After taking a sip of her drink, she said, ‘It’s your life.’
He decided not to tell her he’d got a steady girlfriend at the time and had left the women to his friend who’d worked with him. This idea she’d got of him being an English gigolo was too entertaining. ‘And it’s been a rich one to date,’ he said, deadpan.
This time she almost gulped at her cocktail.
It was mean perhaps, but he found he got a buzz from teasing her, probably because he’d felt off kilter since the first time he’d set eyes on his red-haired neighbour. Ridiculous, but Willow Landon bothered him deep inside, in a small private place no one ever reached. It was irritating and inconvenient, he told himself, but it would pass. Everything did.
