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She didn’t have time to think about the flowers, though. As Willow reached the bottom step Morgan uncurled himself from one of the easy chairs dotted about the vast hall, throwing down the magazine he’d been reading before her arrival.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said before he could speak. ‘I never sleep late, never, and you told me what time breakfast was. I hope I haven’t put Kitty out and—’
‘Easy, easy.’ He smiled with warm amusement in his eyes. ‘In this house the weekends fit in with the occupants, not the other way round. You clearly found the bed comfortable at least.’
In truth she had tossed and turned until dawn, but her inability to sleep had had nothing to do with the bed and all to do with the tall dark man in front of her. ‘It was lovely, thank you.’ She could hear the breathlessness in her voice and was annoyed by it. The night before she had decided she was going to be very calm, cool and collected in her future dealings with Morgan Wright and here she was acting like a gauche fourteen-year-old.
‘Jim’s taken Kitty shopping once I persuaded her we were quite capable of sorting ourselves out for breakfast,’ he said lazily. ‘I suggest we eat in the kitchen if that’s OK? It’s easier and Kitty’s not here to object.’
‘That’s fine by me but you should have eaten earlier.’ She felt awful having clearly put a spanner in the house’s normal weekend routine. It was so rude.
‘Why would I do that?’ he said quietly, walking her through to the kitchen at the end of the hall.
Morgan opened the door and stood aside for Willow to precede him into the room. The kitchen was fabulous. She’d seen it in dim light, last night, but she’d been too fraught to take in how stunning it was. The flowing lines of the spectacularly beautiful black granite worktops, which glittered like a starry night’s sky, the wide expanse of light wood cupboards and array of every modern appliance known to man were impressive. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘Now this is a kitchen.’
‘Like it?’ He smiled, obviously pleased. ‘This is Kitty’s domain but I designed it myself and know my way around.’ He walked to a refrigerator that could have accommodated several families, opening it as he said, ‘There’s orange, grapefruit, apple and mango, black grape and cranberry juice. Which would you like? Oh, and a couple of smoothies, banana and loganberry.’
‘No pineapple?’ she asked, tongue in cheek.
He looked at her and she looked at him. He stood enveloped in the golden sunlight streaming through the wide kitchen window, his black jeans and white shirt making him a living monochrome. Her heart stopped and then galloped as he smiled slowly, his blue eyes warm as he said, ‘Touché.’
‘I’ll have black grape, please,’ she said weakly after a long moment when she could find her breath to speak.
He wasn’t supposed to be able to laugh at himself. Her heart was now thumping like a gong in her chest and she wasn’t able to control her breathing. That wasn’t who Morgan Wright was. Was it? But then she didn’t have a clue who he was.
She sat down at the kitchen table, which had been set for two. Not by Kitty, she was sure. A basket of what looked like home-made soft rolls and a pat of butter were in the centre, and Willow suddenly felt ravenously hungry. As Morgan handed her a glass of juice she said, ‘May I?’ as she nodded at the rolls.
‘Help yourself.’ He grinned. ‘Cooked this morning by Kitty’s fair hand. No shop-bought bread in this establishment. ’
‘You’re spoilt,’ she said a moment later, her mouth full of the delicious bread. ‘Absolutely spoilt rotten.’
‘You’re right.’ He’d begun to cook bacon and eggs and the aroma was heavenly. ‘And long may it continue.’
They ate sitting side by side in the sunlit kitchen, finishing off with some of the best coffee Willow had ever tasted. Replete, she stretched like a slender well-fed cat. ‘I’ve never eaten three eggs at one sitting in my life.’ She glanced at him and he was smiling. ‘It’s not good for you, you know,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Very bad for your health, in fact.’
‘Eating?’ he murmured mockingly.
‘Eating too many eggs.’
‘You’ve been listening to the experts, I take it?’ he drawled lazily. ‘Give it another decade and they’ll be saying you should eat a dozen a day or something. Their advice changes with the wind. There’s always someone saying something different.’
‘So how do you know what’s right?’
