wood. He’d drunk enough cheap plonk throughout his university days to always buy the best once he could afford to do so.
Kitty bustled in with the first course, cajun-spiced salmon with honey crème fraîche. It was one of her specialities and always cooked to perfection so the flakes of flesh fell apart when pressed with a fork.
He watched Willow take her first bite and saw the greeneyes widen in appreciation. She ate delicately, like an elegant, well-mannered cat, her soft, full lips closing over the food and tasting it carefully. With a swiftness that surprised him he found himself wondering what it would be like to feel her mouth open beneath his, to bury his hands in the silken sheen of her hair and thrust his tongue into the secret recesses behind her small white teeth. To nibble and suck and tease her lips…
‘This is delicious.’ She glanced up and saw him looking at her and immediately her face became wary even though her smile was polite. The withdrawal was subtle but there nonetheless.
What the hell had gone on in her life? Morgan nodded, his voice easy when he said, ‘She’s a strange mixture, is Kitty. She and Jim only like the plainest of food, no frills or fancies, as she puts it, but her main interest in life is cooking fantastic dishes that are out of this world. Her tofu miso soup has to be tasted to be believed and likewise her baked Indian rice pudding with nuts, fruit and saffron. I do believe she and Jim are probably sitting down to steamed white fish and three veg as we speak, though. Good solid northern food that sticks to the ribs.’
‘Don’t they ever eat with you?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Not when I have guests. Another of Kitty’s set-inconcrete ideas.’ Deliberately keeping his voice casual, he said, ‘Do you like cooking?’
Her small nose wrinkled. ‘I suppose I don’t mind it but I’m not the best in the world by any means. I do experiment at weekends now and again, but I rely on my trusty microwave during the week when I’m working. Ready meals mostly, I’m afraid.’
Aware he was itching to know more about her—a lot more—Morgan warned himself to go steady. ‘Tell me about your job,’ he drawled as though he were merely making polite conversation. ‘What do you do and where do you work?’
He ate slowly as she spoke, pretending he wasn’t hanging on every word. When she came to a natural pause he asked the question he’d been working round to all evening. ‘So what made you buy Keeper’s Cottage? It’s a bit remote, isn’t it?’
The barrier that went up was almost visible. ‘I liked it.’
‘There must have been other places you liked closer to your work, surely? Places you could have shared with friends, perhaps?’
For a moment he thought she was going to tell him to mind his own business. He couldn’t have blamed her. Instead, after a long pause, she said coolly, ‘I’ve done the sharing-with-friends thing for a while and I decided I wanted my own house now. I…I like my own company. Being independent is important to me.’
Neat hint for the future. Morgan smiled. ‘There’s a hell of a lot wants doing to the cottage as far as I understand.’
Willow shrugged. ‘I’m in no rush. Things will happen in time.’
‘And it’s tiny. Charming,’ he added hastily. ‘But tiny.’
‘It’s more than big enough for one.’
He’d finished his salmon and took a long swallow of wine, blue eyes holding green when he murmured, ‘What if you meet someone?’
‘I meet people all the time, Morgan, and it doesn’t affect my living accommodation.’
Her voice had been light, even suggesting amusement, but her fingers were gripping the stem of the wineglass so tightly her knuckles showed white. Vitally aware of her body language, he gave the required response of a lazy smile but found he wasn’t ready to do the socially acceptable thing and leave well alone. ‘I mean someone special,’ he said softly. ‘You’re a very attractive young
Kitty bustled in with the first course, cajun-spiced salmon with honey crème fraîche. It was one of her specialities and always cooked to perfection so the flakes of flesh fell apart when pressed with a fork.
He watched Willow take her first bite and saw the greeneyes widen in appreciation. She ate delicately, like an elegant, well-mannered cat, her soft, full lips closing over the food and tasting it carefully. With a swiftness that surprised him he found himself wondering what it would be like to feel her mouth open beneath his, to bury his hands in the silken sheen of her hair and thrust his tongue into the secret recesses behind her small white teeth. To nibble and suck and tease her lips…
‘This is delicious.’ She glanced up and saw him looking at her and immediately her face became wary even though her smile was polite. The withdrawal was subtle but there nonetheless.
What the hell had gone on in her life? Morgan nodded, his voice easy when he said, ‘She’s a strange mixture, is Kitty. She and Jim only like the plainest of food, no frills or fancies, as she puts it, but her main interest in life is cooking fantastic dishes that are out of this world. Her tofu miso soup has to be tasted to be believed and likewise her baked Indian rice pudding with nuts, fruit and saffron. I do believe she and Jim are probably sitting down to steamed white fish and three veg as we speak, though. Good solid northern food that sticks to the ribs.’
‘Don’t they ever eat with you?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Not when I have guests. Another of Kitty’s set-inconcrete ideas.’ Deliberately keeping his voice casual, he said, ‘Do you like cooking?’
Her small nose wrinkled. ‘I suppose I don’t mind it but I’m not the best in the world by any means. I do experiment at weekends now and again, but I rely on my trusty microwave during the week when I’m working. Ready meals mostly, I’m afraid.’
Aware he was itching to know more about her—a lot more—Morgan warned himself to go steady. ‘Tell me about your job,’ he drawled as though he were merely making polite conversation. ‘What do you do and where do you work?’
He ate slowly as she spoke, pretending he wasn’t hanging on every word. When she came to a natural pause he asked the question he’d been working round to all evening. ‘So what made you buy Keeper’s Cottage? It’s a bit remote, isn’t it?’
The barrier that went up was almost visible. ‘I liked it.’
‘There must have been other places you liked closer to your work, surely? Places you could have shared with friends, perhaps?’
For a moment he thought she was going to tell him to mind his own business. He couldn’t have blamed her. Instead, after a long pause, she said coolly, ‘I’ve done the sharing-with-friends thing for a while and I decided I wanted my own house now. I…I like my own company. Being independent is important to me.’
Neat hint for the future. Morgan smiled. ‘There’s a hell of a lot wants doing to the cottage as far as I understand.’
Willow shrugged. ‘I’m in no rush. Things will happen in time.’
‘And it’s tiny. Charming,’ he added hastily. ‘But tiny.’
‘It’s more than big enough for one.’
He’d finished his salmon and took a long swallow of wine, blue eyes holding green when he murmured, ‘What if you meet someone?’
‘I meet people all the time, Morgan, and it doesn’t affect my living accommodation.’
Her voice had been light, even suggesting amusement, but her fingers were gripping the stem of the wineglass so tightly her knuckles showed white. Vitally aware of her body language, he gave the required response of a lazy smile but found he wasn’t ready to do the socially acceptable thing and leave well alone. ‘I mean someone special,’ he said softly. ‘You’re a very attractive young
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