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‘They’re not strangers, they’re a small family firm I’ve used professionally several times and they’re totally trustworthy.’
‘They’re strangers to me,’ she ground out furiously.
He gave her a hard look. ‘So you’d rather struggle for days and still not do such a good job as they’ll accomplish.’
‘Absolutely.’ She glared at him.
He folded his arms over his chest, stretching his long legs as he studied her with an air of exasperation. ‘You like to make it almost impossible for anyone to help you, obviously.’
‘I don’t want strangers in my home,’ she repeated stubbornly. ‘I’m sorry but you’ll have to cancel them.’
‘You mean it, don’t you?’ His voice carried a faint air of bewilderment, which would have made her smile in different circumstances. ‘You’d really rather do it yourself.’
Willow tilted her chin. ‘I know you were trying to be kind,’ she said steadily. ‘I appreciate that, really. But I am more than capable of looking after myself and I like to do things my way. I do not want a cleaning team in my cottage.’
Morgan said nothing for a few moments. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Fair enough. I’ll ring them and tell them they’re not needed. OK?’
‘Thank you.’ She relaxed a little. Bad mistake.
‘And in the morning I’ll help you make a start and you can tell me exactly how you want things done.’ He reached for another chocolate as he spoke, popping it into his mouth before offering her the box. ‘OK?’ he said mildly. And he smiled.
She stared at him. After rejecting his proposal about the cleaners she didn’t feel she could refuse his help again. Besides, he was talking about it as though it were already a fait accompli. Her brow slightly furrowed, she said hesitantly, ‘I don’t want to put you about any further.’
‘You’re not.’ He grinned a slightly wolfish grin. ‘Have one of the dark ones with the cherry on top. They’re delicious.’
CHAPTER SIX
OK, SO he’d lied about the cleaners but it was only a small white lie. And perfectly acceptable in the circumstances.
After an hour or two of tossing and turning Morgan had given up all hope of sleep and decided to take a shower. Now, as he stood under the cool water with his face upturned to the flow, he found his mind was still centred on the flame-haired, green-eyed girl sleeping under his roof.
She would never have agreed to let him accompany her to the cottage tomorrow without a spot of subterfuge, and the job of cleaning up was too much for one, he told himself self-righteously. Hell, he was doing her a favour after all. He’d brought home a briefcase full of papers needing his attention this weekend; it wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything better to do.
Turning off the water, he raked back his hair and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was black and white, the white bath, basin, toilet and bidet offset by gleaming black wall and floor tiles and a large strip of mirror that coiled round the room at chest height and reached the ceiling. The room had a voyeuristic quality, which Morgan didn’t apologise for in the least, having designed it himself, along with the equally luxurious and dramatic bedroom, again in black and white.
After drying himself roughly with a towel he walked through to the bedroom stark naked, flinging himself on the ruffled black sheets and switching on the massive highdefinition LCD TV. He flicked through umpteen channels before throwing down the remote with a grunt of irritation, his mind replaying the last few minutes before he’d left Willow at her bedroom door.
He’d wanted to kiss her so why the devil hadn’t he? he asked himself testily. Just a light, friendly kiss, nothing heavy. A social exchange that would have emphasised he was merely being neighbourly in having her stay. But he hadn’t wanted her to get the wrong idea, to imagine he was coming on to her. She was already like a cat on a hot tin roof most of the time—he hadn’t liked the idea of unsettling her further.
Nice rationalisations, another section of his mind stated dryly, but that was all they were. The truth was he hadn’t dared trust himself to kiss her. He had the feeling once his mouth connected with hers it might mean a whole lot of trouble.
Groaning softly, he rolled over and stood up, pulling on his black towelling robe. If he wasn’t going to be able to sleep he might as well make himself a pot of coffee and do some work in the study. He’d brought home the details of a merger he was contemplating and he wanted to get the facts and figures securely under his belt for a meeting on Monday morning. His main business interests revolved around the buying and selling of companies—always at a profit—and he had a team of people working for him at the premises he owned in the city. This project was a little different,however. A friend he’d been at uni with had approached him asking for his help. His friend owned a glassmaking business, which had been handed down through his family for generations, but it was in severe financial trouble. The proposal was that for a share of the business he plough in the necessary funds to keep it floating but, friend or not, he didn’t intend to try to patch up a ship that was too full of leaks. He needed to go through the papers very carefully so he knew exactly what was entailed.
