Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit)

by Sue Moorcroft

  Then Carrie undid the tie of her robe, and offered herself body and soul to Morgan.

  ‘I want to be,’ she said as Morgan pulled her robe gently from her. And then, as Morgan began to kiss every single part of her, she gave herself up to his kisses.

  Carrie and Morgan were on the terrace just finishing a fresh pot of coffee – the first one he’d made having gone stone cold while they were making love – when Genifer rang and suggested that they all meet up for lunch.

  ‘What do you think?’ Morgan asked Carrie, his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Lunch with Genifer and Jean-Claude, or lunch back in bed with me?’

  ‘Ooooh, decisions, decisions,’ Carrie giggled. ‘But I think it’s going to have to be lunch with Gen, don’t you?’

  Morgan pulled a mock-sorry face.

  ‘Manners dictate we must,’ Carrie said, wagging a finger at him. ‘Gen gave up a day yesterday to entertain me, so we’ll go to lunch.’

  ‘But we’ll get away as soon as we can?’

  ‘We will,’ Carrie said, smiling at him.

  ‘Come and have the guided tour, Carrie,’ Genifer said, as soon as Carrie and Morgan arrived. ‘The men will be talking business anyway.’

  She linked her arm through Carrie’s and pulled her close.

  ‘You should have come over before,’ she said. ‘I’ve got friends down here, but it’s not the same with them as it was with you.’

  ‘I know,’ Carrie said, turning to kiss her friend’s cheek. ‘I wish I had now.’

  ‘And is that regret anything to do with Morgan? You know, you would have met him sooner, and …’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Carrie interrupted.

  ‘Ah, the lady doth protest too much, methinks,’ Genifer quipped. ‘But I’m not going to give you the third degree.’ She opened a door, throwing it wide and ushered Carrie inside. ‘Come and look at the view from here.’

  ‘Wow! That’s a view and then some,’ Carrie said, standing beside Genifer at the window looking out over the harbour at Antibes.

  ‘A view with a purpose!’ Genifer laughed. ‘Some of Morgan’s yachts are moored in Cannes and some here. The ones here, Jean-Claude and I can keep an eye on!’

  ‘He never expects you to work 24/7?’

  ‘Not expects, no … but we do. He’s a good boss. Generous. Understanding if we have problems, like the time Jean-Claude’s sister had a meningitis scare. He put the plane at our disposal so we could get to Paris quickly.’

  ‘All this jetting about,’ Carrie said, ‘it’s all a bit of a whirlwind to me.’

  ‘You get used to it.’

  Genifer looked at her watch, and her brow furrowed.

  ‘I’ll help with lunch,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m not the world’s greatest cook, but I can wash lettuce and load a dishwasher!’

  ‘Oh, it’s not lunch I’m worried about,’ Genifer said, checking her watch again. ‘Nicos should be back by now.’

  ‘Nicos?’

  ‘The guy who’s skippering the yacht with Carter Mills and his friends.’

  ‘Carter Mills? The film star?’

  ‘Yes, him. Look, sorry, I’m going to have to cut short the guided tour. I’ll have to get Jean-Claude to run over to the office and see if he can get hold of Nicos on the ship-to-shore radio.’

  Genifer was already halfway to the door, so Carrie turned and followed her. Hmm, she mused, it might be a great place to live with all the sunshine and glamorous people, and designer this and that at every turn, but what sort of a life was it if Genifer couldn’t do something as simple as arranging lunch for friends without having to think about her job?

  ‘Carrie, I’m sorry,’ Morgan said. ‘But I’m going to have to stay here.’

  ‘I guessed as much,’ Carrie said.

  She carried on folding her clothes neatly, ready to pack. She was not looking forward to flying back alone one little bit. But fly back she must because tomorrow the contractor would be at Oakenbury Hall to sort the electrics before she could complete the work on the master bedroom. And she still had the nursery plan to get down on paper rather than flying around in her head as it was now. The nursery – Carrie struggled to put all thoughts about Morgan having babies with someone that wasn’t her, out of her mind. She wondered if he felt guilty that he had made love to her when he had another woman in his life, but Morgan’s guilt wasn’t Carrie’s concern right now.

  ‘Carter Mills,’ Morgan said, ‘might be a big-shot US film star but he’s pitifully low on manners. The idiot put everyone’s lives at risk with his lager-lout behaviour.’

  Carrie sighed. She’d sat, alone, at Genifer’s dining table while her friend, Jean-Claude and Morgan had gone into business-mode trying to locate the missing yacht. Lunch time came and went. The lasagne Genifer had made dried up. No one had an appetite for very much when the time came for the evening meal. Carrie had eaten an apple and two nectarines and felt slightly sick. But the yacht had eventually limped into harbour, with a very drunk Carter Mills – and all his friends in the same state – shouting and swearing and alerting the press to his antics. Nicos had a nasty gash on his forehead that needed a trip to hospital to fix. A crew member had had most of his clothes ripped off in a fight. And a very expensive hand-held satnav had been thrown overboard.

  ‘I wouldn’t want their lives,’ Carrie said. ‘It’s all a bit … well, false.’

  ‘False?’ Morgan said.

  ‘Well,’ Carrie said, ‘it seems to me people like that think that money is the answer to everything. Trash a boat – pay for the damages. Rip a bloke’s clothes to shreds – buy him some new ones. Put someone in hospital, pay for his treatment.’

  ‘I’m part of that world, Carrie,’ Morgan said quietly.

  ‘I know,’ Carrie said. ‘And I don’t mean to be rude, but …’

  No, she wouldn’t say what was on her mind – that she didn’t think she could ever be part of that world. But already she was not liking that she wouldn’t be seeing Morgan for a while. It would take at least a week to sort out the damaged yacht and begin claims procedure against Carter Mills. It was all going to get very messy with the press and possibly television being involved. Carrie had overheard Genifer telling Morgan that Sky News wanted an interview and should she give one? Morgan had said no because there was no way he was going to give Carter Mills free publicity.

  ‘But what?’ Morgan said.

  Carrie pressed her lips together. She should never have asked Morgan to make love to her. For him it was probably no more than just another conquest – another notch on his considerably beautiful bedpost. But for her it had been much more – she had, she realised, fallen in love.

  ‘Tell me, Carrie,’ Morgan pleaded. ‘It’s not because of what happened this morning, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well then, you don’t have to go now. You could leave very early tomorrow and still be in time for the contractors. And we could have a repeat performance starting right now.’

  ‘No we can’t. This morning, I think I was still a bit drunk.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t have made love to me if you hadn’t been? Is that what you’re saying?’

  Carrie was amazed to see Morgan was looking genuinely hurt and upset. She wished she could take the words back but she’d said them now. Maybe it was for the best – it would stop her getting a broken heart all over again. She lifted the lid of the case and began almost throwing her things inside.

  ‘I’ve got a spare case you can have,’ Morgan said, and to Carrie’s ears his voice had become businesslike, detached. Nothing like the gentle and loving Morgan who had whispered so deliciously in her ear only hours before. She wanted that Morgan back so badly her body ached. But she’d probably ruined her chances for all time.

  ‘This one’s fine for my needs,’ Carrie said.

  ‘You don’t have to be so stubborn.’

  ‘I’m not being stubborn. This old case is absolutely fine.. You’re giving me a case because you’ve probably got hundreds of t
he things, all in leather, and bringing me here by private jet and buying me the kaftan … well, it all smacks of charity.’

  Her hands were shaking now as she tried to smooth the clothes down so she could shut the lid, but they refused to be smoothed.

  Morgan came to stand behind her, putting his arms around her. He grasped her hands, then turned her around to face him.

  ‘It was not an act of charity on my part when I made love to you this morning,’ he said. He kissed Carrie’s forehead, and then her nose. Then his mouth found the side of her neck. ‘And it is not going to be an act of charity now.’

  Carrie felt as though her insides were melting with longing.

  ‘But Ed …’

  ‘Ed will wait until I drive you to Cannes Mandelieu airport – it’s what I pay him for.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No more “buts”.’ Morgan said, hugging her close, before lifting her gently and laying her down on the bed. ‘And this time I confess I have pre-planned.’ He took a packet of contraceptives from his chinos and waggled it at her.

  ‘Oh …’

  But that was the last thing Carrie said before Morgan’s mouth found hers.

  Carrie was more than busy at Oakenbury Hall over the coming week – organising workmen, planning the nursery. Morgan rang but each time he did Carrie was somewhere else – at the paint shop, or The Attic sourcing more material – and he was forced to leave a message on his own answerphone to say he would probably be another week, possibly two. Something else had cropped up. It didn’t seem, to Carrie, that any sort of return call was needed, so she didn’t ring. But then another message came asking Carrie to ring back. But she’d been so busy during the day that she’d fallen asleep, fully clothed on the bed when she got in. When she’d woken, stiff and cold, at 3 a.m. she’d deemed it too late to ring him.

  On the Monday of her second week back Mrs Dawkins came bursting into the drawing room with a bunch of white freesias in her hand.

  ‘They’re for you,’ Mrs Dawkins said.

  ‘From Morgan?’ Carrie said.

  ‘Who else?’ Mrs Dawkins laughed, thrusting the flowers at her.

  ‘But he’s already had roses sent to my flat.’

  ‘Then aren’t you the lucky one. My husband dropped the word flowers from his lexicon the day we married. Not that I begrudge you flowers, Miss.’

  Yes, Carrie thought, I am lucky. And rude. I ought to have made an effort to ring him from my flat to thank him for the roses however tired I was.

  ‘I’ll ring him and thank him tonight, Mrs Dawkins. I’d do it from here now on my mobile but there’s no signal here.’

  ‘It’ll have to be the landline then, won’t it?’ Mrs Dawkins said, smiling broadly. ‘And my guess is he’ll be glad to hear your voice. Number’s on the top of the pad by the phone in the hall.’

  And then Mrs Dawkins skittered off, leaving Carrie alone.

  She walked slowly to the phone and tapped in the number. There was just the one ringtone in her ear before the phone was answered.

  ‘Carrie?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs Dawkins said I could use this phone …’

  ‘Of course. Of course. Any time. Carrie, I can’t tell you how good it is to hear you.’

  And me, you, Carrie thought.

  ‘Thank you for the flowers,’ she said instead. ‘All of them. They’re beautiful.’

  ‘I look forward to giving you more – in person. And soon, I hope. Oh blast it, I’m so sorry, Carrie … I’ve got to go. Gen’s ushering a client in. Text me. I can pick up when I’m free then. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  “Bye.’

  ‘Bye,’ Carrie said, but Morgan had put down the phone.

  Life was always going to be like this with Morgan, wasn’t it? His thoughts with her as he’d proved by sending flowers, but his body somewhere else being the big businessman that he was. Hmm … Carrie had lots to think about.

  Text messages flew back and forth – Carrie’s with brief progress reports on how work was proceeding at Oakenbury Hall, and Morgan’s with short and witty comments about some of his celebrity clients. Oh, and one in which he said he wanted her to come over soon to tell him what plans she had for the villa.

  But neither said they missed the other. And Morgan’s idea of soon seemed to be a long time coming.

  And now it was another Monday morning and seven long weeks had passed since Carrie had seen Morgan. She had a key to Oakenbury Hall but she rang the bell anyway – a courtesy to Mrs Dawkins who might be alarmed if she walked in unannounced.

  But there was no answer to her ring. So Carrie unlocked the door and stepped inside, sidestepping a pile of post on the mat.

  She didn’t mean to look, and afterwards she told herself anyone would have done the same – she couldn’t help but see the name and the address on the envelope.

  ‘Sir Morgan Harrington?’ she said, turning the top envelope over, before rapidly flipping through the others in the pile. ‘He can’t be.’

  But the proof that he was, was in Carrie’s hands. She remembered Genifer alluding to him mixing in the upper echelons of society before killing the conversation because she had already said too much. Had Morgan instructed Genifer not to tell Carrie about his title?

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’re not the only one who can keep secrets.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Morgan!’ Carrie said, later that day, his name catching in her throat so that she couldn’t be sure if she had spoken it out loud or had only thought it. She hadn’t known he was coming back. And now her legs seemed to have turned to the consistency of unset jelly as she took another step down the stairs. She clutched the fabric samples designated for the nursery at Oakenbury Hall to her chest, and then slid them down protectively over her stomach. A nursery that was to be for Morgan and some other woman’s child, and not her own. Their own – hers and Morgan’s. A nursery for someone who would be Lady Harrington – that someone, certainly not her. She regretted giving herself so easily to Morgan now – although she didn’t regret the new life growing within her because all life was precious.

  ‘The very same,’ Morgan said, hurrying towards her as she reached the bottom tread. He kissed her cheeks in the French fashion. ‘You look … how can I describe it …?’ He placed his hands on Carrie’s shoulders and studied her. ‘Well would sum it up. I think the Scots might call it bonny.’

  ‘And I didn’t before?’ Carrie said. She wriggled out from under his hold and, skirting round him, walked across the hall to place the fabric samples on the hall table.

  ‘You know you did,’ Morgan said. ‘Maybe I should have said “weller”, but there’s no such word. I’ll dig about in my vocabulary and see if I can come up with another one.’

  He came to stand beside Carrie who wasn’t sure what she should do next – leave perhaps? Right now before her heart gave her away. Right now before she told Morgan she was expecting his child – she’d bought four pregnancy tests and used them on different days at different times and they had all given the same, positive, result. But the nearness of him, her desire for him, made speech impossible.

  ‘Got it!’ Morgan said. ‘Blooming – that’s the word.’

  Carrie closed her eyes – it was as though he had seen right through her and knew. She swallowed hard. This should be her moment, but still the words she needed to say wouldn’t come.

  ‘The drawing room is finished,’ she said instead. ‘Come and look.’

  ‘Lead me,’ Morgan said. ‘I’ll close my eyes and you can guide me in, and tell me when to open them.’

  He reached for Carrie’s hand.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said.

  ‘Since when has holding the hand of a beautiful woman been silly?’

  Before Carrie could put her hand behind her back or tuck it under an armpit, Morgan grasped it.

  ‘I like surprises,’ he said.

  But possibly not the one I’m going to do my best not to give you, Carrie thought.r />
  ‘All right, then,’ Carrie said. His hand felt warm and solid and protective around hers as she led him through the doorway. ‘You can open them now.’

  ‘Wow!’ Morgan said. ‘You’ve worked wonders. Clever, clever you.’

  Then he spun her round and hugged her to him. She felt his lips against her hair, felt his hand glide up her back until it reached the nape of her neck. He hugged her even closer.

  ‘You like it, then?’ she said, placing her hands against his chest and pushing herself gently away from him. ‘You don’t mind that I’ve hung one of my paintings over the fireplace? It was a huge space crying out for something to fill it.’

  She pointed to the study of peonies – huge blowsy blooms the size of Savoy cabbages she’d done when in the sixth form at school – and which just about filled any wall on which she hung it in her own home. Here it looked as though it belonged. Well, she thought it did.

  Morgan seemed to be taking an age to respond.

  ‘There are peonies in the garden, I noticed,’ Carrie said. ‘You can change it for something else if you want to. But, well, my painting makes a nice link, I think. ’

  ‘It does indeed. Add it to the cost.’

  ‘No. It’s a gift. If you like it. It’s too big for my flat, but it will …’

  ‘… do in here?’

  Now who was putting words in other people’s mouths as Morgan had accused her of doing a few times. Carrie bit her lip. This wasn’t going how she had planned it to go.

  Morgan threw a mock-sad face – echoing her own expression no doubt.

  ‘Cheer up, Carrie. The painting’s fabulous, and you know it. It enhances this room, gives it warmth. In fact, it makes the place look so wonderful I’m almost tempted to change my mind and make this my main home. ’

  ‘Only almost?’ Carrie said.

  ‘I think so. Even though sorting out the Carter Mills mess was the downside of what I do and took far, far, longer than I expected it to, it’s taught me one thing – I should be on the spot 24/7.’

  ‘Oh,’ Carrie said.