Weddings Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ heard the urgent shrill of Willow’s phone as she turned it on, alerting her to messages waiting. She’d be calling Crysse. Or her mother. Neither of them calls to look forward to. He should have thought of some way to get her in here with him. She shouldn’t be on her own in the dark in a strange place.

      Well, maybe it wasn’t too late.

      He found his mobile and sent her a text message.

      Willow’s phone beeped again. A text message this time. Crysse?

      ‘Are you okay down there?’

      Not Crysse. Mike.

      ‘Absolutely fine,’ she tapped in and despatched to him.

      Another beep. ‘No spiders, beetles or earwigs?’

      Earwigs? Eeugh! That was a low blow. He knew she hated creepy crawlies and he also knew she was lying on the floor in the dark, tucked into the sleeping bag, with only the light of her phone for company. It was too easy to believe that any loose strand of cotton brushing against her ankle was something far worse. She bit down on her lip, telling herself not to be a wimp.

      ‘Only bats. Any ideas?’

      ‘Close the window?’

      ‘I’d rather risk the bats. Goodnight.’

      Mike grinned. ‘Did you hear something on the stairs? Is this place haunted?’ he asked.

      Willow wished she hadn’t bothered to look at that one. After the heat of the day the building creaked and sighed like a restless ghost and it wouldn’t stretch her imagination to convince herself that those were footsteps on the stairs.

      The phone beeped again. She tried to ignore it, but couldn’t. The message read, ‘Scream if you need me.’

      Very funny. There was nothing here to bother her except the man at the end of the corridor.

      On the other hand, why suffer alone?

      She screamed.

      He was in the open doorway in a heartbeat, moonlit temptation in soft grey boxers and a frown. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

      For a moment she considered telling him that there was something crawling about at the bottom of her sleeping bag. That he’d have to get in there and have a good look around. Then reality kicked in.

      ‘Just testing,’ she said.

      For a moment he remained where he was. Then he said, ‘The system worked.’

      ‘Terrific.’

      ‘Yeah. Goodnight.’

      ‘Night,’ she said with a smile that hurt and a little wiggle of her fingers that were all she was prepared to allow out of the sleeping bag. Until he shut the door. Then she dived for her bag, looking for the slab of chocolate she’d bought anticipating low moments. This was definitely a chocolate moment.

      ‘Tea, three sugars.’

      Mike’s hand appeared from the humped-up sleeping bag followed by a groan as he blearily checked the time on his wrist-watch. ‘It’s six-thirty, woman. You’re inhuman.’

      ‘No one said you had to volunteer.’ Life, Willow thought, would be a whole lot simpler if he’d go away. Bleaker, but simpler. ‘But the sun’s shining and I’ve got a room to paint.’ She put the plastic cup on the floor beside him.

      ‘I don’t get breakfast?’

      ‘If you’d wanted room service you should have stayed at the pub,’ she said briskly.

      ‘I can’t work all day on a cup of tea.’ He sat up, raked his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and reached for the cup. ‘A couple of eggs. Is that too much to ask?’

      ‘Not at all. You’ll find a box in the fridge. And Emily thoughtfully brought along a frying pan.’

      ‘What about you?’ Mike regarded her with a look that might, by someone inclined to self-deception, be interpreted as concern. ‘I’m in enough trouble without you passing out at the top of a stepladder. Breakfast is the most—’

      ‘—important meal of the day. I know.’ She tried to look irritated, but it was difficult. He had the kind of shoulders that, naked, bypassed her irritation and went straight for the midriff. Her decision not to marry the man had done absolutely nothing to lessen his physical attraction. ‘Tell the truth, Mike. My mother sent you, didn’t she?’

      Invoking the spectre of her mother should have been sufficient to break the spell. Unfortunately, his grin had a way of making her go weak at the knees. ‘I can see there’s no point in talking to you. You paint, I’ll cook.’ He made a move and she beat a hasty retreat before he shucked off the sleeping bag. The grey boxers were on top of a pile of clothes and a man who hadn’t stopped to pack a towel wouldn’t have given pyjamas a second thought.

      She frowned. And what kind of hotel asked you to bring your own sleeping bag?

      Halfway down the stairs, she stopped, glanced back. He must have seen the paper at the service station, worked out where she was going. Not so difficult. But that sleeping bag was a long way from new. Where had it come from?

      Maybridge. That’s where. Did he have stuff stored there? Did he still have a flat or house there? What was it about Maybridge that was so secret?

      She picked up her tea, walked through to the day room. She’d abandoned her work when Mike had arrived, and expected to find her paintbrush stiff and in need of washing. Instead, it was sitting beside the paint tin, clean, soft and ready to use. She flipped the bristles across the palm of her hand and smiled.

      ‘You’ll have to do that yourself from now on.’ She looked back over her shoulder at Mike in just his jeans leaning against the doorway, cup in hand, watching her. He really should wear more clothes, she thought. But maybe his T-shirt was still damp from double duty as a towel the night before. She’d hung hers over the window catch to dry, along with the underwear she’d rinsed out in the middle of the night when the chocolate high had suddenly dropped to sea level.

      ‘Thanks for taking care of it. I won’t be such a paintbrush slob again.’ He didn’t seem in any hurry to move. ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘Make myself a fried egg sandwich. Sure I can’t interest you?’

      ‘Absolutely certain. I meant where are you going to start painting?’

      ‘I’m not, I’m going to a D-I-Y store. Want to come?’

      She just about managed to stop her jaw from dropping. ‘Be seen in public with you after yesterday?’ she asked, once she’d got her breath back. ‘Risk meeting someone I know? Wouldn’t that make a tasty morsel for the Evening Post’s gossip column.’

      ‘You have a point, but I’m not going to the one on the bypass, I’m going to one at the business park.’

      ‘Near Maybridge?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

      He СКАЧАТЬ