Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit)

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘I haven’t decided what to do with the Hall yet. But Cannes is my home now.’

  ‘Oh, but a house like this should …’

  ‘Should what?’ Morgan Harrington asked, raising one quizzical eyebrow, as though he’d second-guessed what she was going to say, perhaps.

  The truth then.

  ‘I was going to say that a house like this should have children in it. But I’m out of order. I apologise. Telling you what to do with your life isn’t in my brief.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Morgan said. ‘But just out of interest, how many children do you think should be running around here?’

  ‘Three? Four?’ She was looking down at her feet as she spoke. ‘Look, I’m sorry – forget I said all that.’ She looked up and met Morgan’s eye. ‘Please?’

  Morgan marched towards the door.

  ‘We’ll continue with the tour, shall we?’ he said, his voice not as firm and as authoritative as it had been, and Carrie wondered what raw nerve she’d hit.

  Me and my big mouth, Carrie thought as she hurried along the landing behind Morgan, trying to keep up with his long strides. Well, for the rest of the tour of the house she was going to be in professional mode.

  ‘So, that’s it,’ Morgan said when they were back in the drawing room.

  Carrie waited for him to tell her which rooms she was going to be doing apart from this one and the master bedroom. All of them needed work, in her opinion, although she would only offer it to Morgan Harrington if asked. Some of the bedrooms had little in them save a double or single bed, a dressing table, wardrobe, and chair. How they cried out for a picture or two – something floral and blousy, perhaps – on the walls. Or some large mirrors to bring reflected light into the darker rooms.

  While she waited, she glanced at a newspaper resting on top of a wastepaper basket. The headline leapt out at her.

  ‘Love at first sight. Research proves it is possible. The first five minutes

  of any relationship can – and often do – seal the deal!’

  And then there were pictures of celebrities who had fallen in love at first sight. But across it someone had scrawled ‘Rot!’. Morgan probably.

  Carrie smiled to herself. She’d fallen in love with Oakenbury Hall the second she’d seen it, hadn’t she? But Morgan Harrington? As handsome as he was? Hmm, best forget about falling in love with him, Carrie, she told herself firmly. She’d do the job and then Morgan could get back to Cannes, doing whatever he wished with Oakenbury Hall, and Carrie could get back to her life too.

  ‘When would you like my estimate by?’ she asked.

  ‘No need,’ Morgan said. ‘We could shake on the deal.’

  He held his hand out towards Carrie and she had no option but to place hers in it.

  ‘Done,’ she said, as he squeezed her hand firmly.

  She waited for the tingle but it didn’t come this time.

  ‘Not quite. Come out for dinner with me tonight and we’ll talk some more.’

  ‘Dinner? I don’t think so. Now excuse me, I have to go.’

  Morgan let go of her hand and for some strange reason Carrie felt as though she had been cast adrift in unknown waters. She reached for her bag on the floor beside the couch, but it slipped from her grasp and the contents shot all over the place.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ Morgan said, a huge grin on his face.

  Gosh, but he was devastatingly handsome when he smiled.

  ‘No, no, I’ll do it,’ Carrie said. There were all sorts of personal things scattered about for goodness’ sake! She bent down and began to scoop everything back into her bag with her hands, using them like shovels.

  ‘So, that’s no to my supper invitation, is it?’ Morgan asked, still smiling as Carrie struggled to close the clasp on her badly-filled bag.

  ‘It is, I’m afraid. I don’t think it’s ever a good idea to mix pleasure with business.’

  ‘And if I think differently?’

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to think, Mr Harrington. Ever.’

  And then, without giving Morgan the time to insist, yet again, that she call him Morgan, or on helping her to the car with her bags, Carrie hurried towards the door.

  Chapter Two

  Midnight, and Carrie snapped shut her file … she so wanted to ring Morgan Harrington and give him her estimate – even though he’d insisted he didn’t want one – before she went to buy paint and wallpaper in the morning, but it was late. It certainly wasn’t professional to ring clients at that late hour, but the line between Morgan the man and Morgan the client was becoming distinctly hazy for Carrie now she was home with time to think. She’d tried to be sensible and analyse how she felt but it was no good – she liked the man, and liked him very much, and that was it.

  A cold shower, my girl, is what you need, Carrie told herself. The likes of Morgan Harrington are not for you with a fledgling business to run and a sick mother to care for.

  Carrie shuddered at the memory of Aaron calling her mother, Louise, ‘baggage’. Well, no one was going to call her mother ‘baggage’ ever again, and she certainly wasn’t going to give Morgan Harrington the chance to do so.

  Fresh from her shower – warm because she’d chickened out of having a cold one – and wrapped in a ruby-coloured fleece robe, Carrie was padding across the landing to her bedroom when her mobile beeped. She pressed answer.

  ‘Hi Carrie, it’s Morgan here.’

  Well, so much for her thinking past midnight was too late to make business calls! Morgan Harrington obviously thought otherwise!

  ‘Hi. What do you want, Mr Harrington?’

  ‘Morgan, please.’

  ‘Morgan then,’ Carrie said with a sigh – it was going to be easier to give in to him on this issue rather than have him correct her every time she said Mr Harrington. ‘I was just thinking of you, actually.’

  Oh God, what a crass thing to say!

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Professionally,’ Carrie said.

  ‘Of course. So, what was it you were thinking – er, um, professionally?’

  Carrie could hear the smile in his voice – he was flirting with her! And it was oh-so-tempting to flirt back – easier over the telephone than face-to-face.

  ‘That I should let you know I’ve made a mood board for the master bedroom. The master bedroom is the most important room in any home.’

  ‘Is that a personal or a professional opinion, Carrie?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘So, tell me what plans you have.’

  ‘Number one: it has to be essentially feminine. All bedrooms should have an element of romance in them.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. And number two?’

  ‘Um, um,’ Carrie began, fully aware she didn’t have a plan number two. With her free hand, Carrie was sketching Morgan on the notepad she always kept beside her bed. Even from memory she was sure she’d caught his likeness pretty well – his high forehead, the way his hair flopped over it so deliciously, hiding his eyes from time to time so that she hadn’t been sure if he was looking at her or not.

  ‘Um, tomorrow I plan to buy the paint and source the wallpaper. Then I’m ready to start the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what I’m ringing about. How will you pay for whatever it is you choose?’

  ‘My credit cards of course. I’ll show you all the receipts.’

  Honestly! Did the man think she was totally disorganised, just because she’d been a teensy bit late, and had dropped her bag?

  ‘I have your credit card wallet in my hand, Carrie. It had slid partway under the couch.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, I’ll come and fetch it first thing in the morning then.’

  ‘No need. I’ll meet you wherever it is you’re going to buy paint and so on.’

  ‘Oh, but you don’t have to.’

  ‘I know. But I want to. I’d like to.’

  ‘You would?’

  ‘Yes, very much. Now what time, and where?’

&nbs
p; Talking to Morgan was making her mouth dry so Carrie reached for her glass of water on the bedside table, but she over-reached and knocked her clock onto the floor. Somehow the alarm was activated and the noise echoed in her sparsely furnished room.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Morgan asked, when Carrie at last found the off switch. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. I knocked something over, that’s all.’

  Carrie sighed – Morgan was going to think she was an incompetent bumbling fool, dropping things, knocking things over.

  ‘Perhaps I could pick you up in the morning and take you to wherever it is you need to go. I couldn’t help noticing your car was a bit reluctant to start.’

  ‘James will get me to Greenbase, no problem,’ Carrie said.

  ‘James?’ Morgan said.

  Was that a hint of jealousy in his voice? Carrie wasn’t in the habit of playing games with people’s emotions, but it might help keep their new relationship on a professional basis if Morgan were to think there was a man in her life.

  ‘Yes, James. We go back a long way, James and I.’

  ‘Right,’ Morgan said. ‘Obviously this wasn’t a good time to call. I’ll have your card at Greenbase for you. What time?’

  ‘8 a.m.’

  ‘8 a.m. it is then. Goodnight, Carrie.’

  And then the phone went dead in Carrie’s ear. Goodness, Morgan’s moods could change quicker than the weather in April, couldn’t they? It would be cruel, and rather childish of her to let him think James was her boyfriend for too long. Tomorrow she’d tell him if he mentioned the name.

  But only if.

  ‘I’ll take it all with me,’ Carrie told the assistant in Greenbase.

  ‘Righto. Won’t be long. Ten minutes or so.’

  Carrie checked her watch, and looked towards the automatic doors. No Morgan yet. She picked up her pen, leaned on the desk, and began doodling on the edge of the paint chart. As if by some magic process it was Morgan’s profile that materialised – his noble nose, and the strong set of his chin.

  ‘Not bad. Anyone I know?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Carrie jumped, knocking into Morgan in her surprise, so that he reached for her elbows to steady her. The touch of his hands, even through her jacket, felt as though an electric charge – like jump leads – had shot through her. Her pencil flew from her hand to the floor, and she slapped her fingers over her doodle.

  ‘Too late. I’ve already seen it.’

  Morgan tried to pull the paint chart from under Carrie’s hand.

  ‘It’s just a doodle,’ Carrie said, pressing hard down on the paper.

  ‘A doodle? More of a sketch, I’d say. A sketch which looks uncannily like me?’

  Carrie shrugged. How could she deny it? She was a good artist and had won a place at Central St. Martin’s to study fine art. But then her father had died and her mother had gone totally to pieces and she’d given up her place. And then she’d met Aaron – and, well, Carrie wasn’t going to give him any more brain space!

  ‘Don’t tell me – you’ve drawn a love-heart and put our initials either side of the arrow as well?’ Morgan tipped his head to one side and looked quizzically at her, a hint of a smile lighting his eyes.

  ‘Don’t delude yourself,’ Carrie said. But then Morgan’s smile instantly vanished. Carrie thought he looked as though she’d slapped him, and she knew he still had the power to take the commission away from her. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not at my best first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Then that makes two of us,’ Morgan said. ‘But for you I made an exception.’

  He reached inside his jacket pocket – cream linen, Carrie noted; she had just the same shade in mind for curtains in the breakfast room should Morgan ever ask her to redecorate that – and pulled out her credit card wallet.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll make sure I don’t put you to any inconvenience again.’

  Carrie took the wallet, making sure their fingers didn’t touch.

  ‘If you’d accepted my supper invitation then you might have noticed you’d left it behind earlier.’

  ‘I know,’ Carrie said. Morgan was making her feel like a naughty child and a little flush of anger burned her cheeks. ‘But I wasn’t dressed for going out for dinner.’

  ‘It was only to the local pub, Carrie.’ Morgan’s eyes were burning into hers, and she could see her reflection in them. ‘Oh, and by the way, you blush very prettily.’

  ‘That, I have to tell you, is not a very original line. And I am not blushing! I’ve got lots to do. I was up until past midnight, as well you know, and I was up very early this morning, and …’

  ‘And James got you here on time obviously?’

  Morgan looked around the showroom as though searching for someone.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But he’s not here now?’

  Carrie did a mock search with her hand held to her forehead.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Good,’ Morgan said. ‘So, if you weren’t dressed appropriately for supper yesterday, do you have something appropriate you could wear tonight?’

  He didn’t give up did he? Carrie wondered if she might be the first woman ever to refuse an invitation to eat with Morgan Harrington.

  ‘If James won’t punch me on the nose for asking,’ Morgan added.

  ‘He won’t. He’s not the jealous sort.’

  ‘Good. Glad to hear it. So, supper?’

  ‘I’m very busy.’

  ‘So busy, you’re standing here doodling?’ Morgan raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

  ‘I’m waiting for the paint …’

  ‘To dry?’

  ‘Oh, very funny!’ Despite her embarrassment at having been caught sketching Morgan, Carrie couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her lips. And it was with relief that she noticed Morgan had dropped the subject of joining him for supper. ‘To be mixed, actually. And then I’m going to The Attic to source the paper.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s something I want to discuss.’

  Something seemed to have frozen suddenly in Morgan – his cheeky banter iced over in his throat. She was as sure that something sad – and possibly bad - had happened to this man, as she was as sure of her own name.

  ‘Okay.’

  Carrie tried to read the expression in Morgan’s oh-so-beautiful eyes. Sadness? Regret? Longing? Or possibly a compilation of all three. Yesterday, he’d said he wasn’t going to be sleeping in the master bedroom. Was he changing his mind? Perhaps they did need to talk.

  The assistant arrived then with the cans of paint.

  ‘You can put them in the boot of my car,’ Morgan told him.

  ‘No!’ Carrie said. ‘I can …’

  Morgan laid a restraining hand on Carrie’s arm – and again she got that bolt of electricity fizzing through her.

  ‘It will save you lugging heavy cans up the steps if I’m not around when you arrive.’

  ‘I’m used to carrying heavy things,’ Carrie said. With a pang of pain she remembered carrying heavy boxes of wedding presents down to her car to take them back to the guests who had bought them, when Aaron walked out on her just days before their wedding.

  ‘So which is it to be?’ the assistant asked, with an amused smile.

  ‘I’ll make a deal,’ Morgan said, turning to Carrie. ‘The paint goes in your car if you agree to lunch with me, seeing as supper is off the agenda.’

  ‘I haven’t got time for lunch today. I …’

  ‘Coffee then? Now? A crowded café somewhere? Is it a deal?’

  ‘That’s hardly a deal!’

  ‘I missed breakfast to get here on time,’ Morgan said.

  Ouch – a reference to her having been late yesterday?

  ‘Well …’ Carrie checked her watch. ‘I might—’

  ‘Listen,’ the assistant said. ‘I don’t get paid to play wallflower around here. Could you two lovers sort out your problem somewhere else?’

  ‘We’re not lovers. We’ve only
just met! We hardly—’ Carrie stopped speaking as she suddenly realised that, at that moment, what she wanted most in all the world was for Morgan to be her lover.

  ‘In your car, I think,’ Morgan said, and his smile reached his eyes and crinkled the sides.

  Carrie nodded. Morgan had seen exactly what was in her mind, hadn’t he? But she had to keep this relationship business-like at all costs.

  So why did she hear herself say, ‘There’s an excellent café in Burston. It’s on the way to The Attic.’

  The Gardener’s Glade was busier than Carrie had thought it would be. She and Morgan had to squeeze together into a space that was really only big enough for one.

  Morgan cut his teacake – oozing with butter – into small squares and picked up a piece and held it to Carrie’s lips.

  ‘Peace offering,’ he said. ‘Since I seem to have offended you by inviting you to supper!’

  ‘You didn’t offend me,’ she said, holding his gaze. She didn’t normally eat buttery things but she knew if she refused his peace offering then she could well offend him over that. And – she reminded herself – he still had the power to withdraw the contract for her to decorate his house.

  She opened her mouth just wide enough for him to place the piece of teacake on her tongue.

  ‘And they weren’t rejections,’ she said when she’d finished eating. ‘ It was just an inconvenient time to be asked, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah, so if I were to ask you another time? Saturday?’

  ‘I can’t do weekends,’ Carrie replied, whippet fast. She looked down at her hands and began tidying the wands of sugar in the bowl.

  ‘James?’

  ‘Well, there’s something I have to tell you …’

  Morgan’s mobile pinged then.

  ‘Do you mind?’ he asked Carrie, taking his phone from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said.

  ‘Bonjour, Delphine. Oui …’ Morgan shrugged his shoulders and turned to Carrie. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, getting up. ‘I’ll take this call outside.’

  When Morgan didn’t come back, Carrie couldn’t shake off a feeling of rejection and abandonment – not quite the same as when Aaron had jilted her, but it was so unexpected in its suddenness.