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apart, and so might be prepared to rethink his feeling about children. But his comments had not only taken that pathetic hope away from her, they had crushed it into tiny, irreparable pieces, impossible ever to put together again.

      ‘Well, at least you won’t expect me to stay after—’

      ‘Oh, but I do,’ Morgan cut in sharply. ‘In fact, now I want that coffee more than ever.’

      ‘Well, you can just go on wanting! I’m finished here, I—’

      ‘But I haven’t finished with you,’ Morgan came back at her with deadly quietness. ‘There are things we still have to talk about.’

      He pushed himself away from the wall, straightening up lazily.

      ‘Make the coffee, Ellie,’ he said and it was a command, not a request.

      CHAPTER THREE

      FOR a moment Morgan thought he’d lost her.

      He knew that look of old. The set jaw, the compressed mouth, the mutinous glare that declared only too clearly that Ellie was having none of whatever she thought he was suggesting.

      This was Ellie at her most stubborn, and, strangely enough, it was seeing her in this mood that reached out and stabbed him in the heart, when he least expected it to.

      This was the Ellie who had most infuriated him when they’d been together. The woman who could set against something, however small, and turn it into a battle, one she had no intention of letting him win. There had never been any chance of wearing her down when she’d been like this. In fact there had only ever been one approach that had a chance of winning her round.

      So he used it.

      ‘Please…’ he added softly, pitching his voice at a very different level.

      She wasn’t going to give in that easily, it was clear. Just one swift, stunned blink of those amazing eyes showed any sort of response, making Morgan wonder exactly why he was so set on having her stay when quite clearly she would rather be anywhere but here.

      But perhaps that was the whole point. Whatever was bugging her, it was pretty damn important to her. And the more she seemed determined not to let any hint of it drop, the more he wanted to know what it was.

      ‘Ellie…’

      He pushed one long-fingered hand through his ebony hair, raking it back from his face with a sigh.

      ‘I’ve been driving for hours and I really could murder for a coffee.’

      He did look tired, Ellie admitted to herself reluctantly. Typical Morgan. When he was working, or concentrating on anything, he forgot about minor practicalities like food or drink.

      ‘What are you afraid of if you stay?’ Morgan questioned softly.

      ‘Nothing.’ It didn’t sound at all convincing. ‘What on earth makes you think that I’m afraid?’

      That was better. She might even believe herself now. But she knew only too well what she was afraid of—and with good reason. She just couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

      ‘Just one cup of coffee,’ she growled reluctantly, risking a swift glance at his face and immediately wishing she hadn’t as she was rewarded with the sort of wide, flashing smile that would have melted rock, never mind her weak, foolish heart.

      ‘You’re an angel.’

      ‘It will only be instant…’

      Desperately she tried to claw back some of the ground she had surrendered.

      ‘Fine!’

      He punctured her sense of triumph quickly and easily, tossing the response over his shoulder as he headed back out to the car.

      Struggling to keep her mind blank, Ellie moved to fill and switch on the kettle. One cup of coffee wouldn’t take very long. She’d be on her way in no time.

      At least she didn’t have to worry about Rosie. Even if the little girl had woken from her nap, she would have Nan and Dee to take care of her. She’d known both women all her short life and had had them wrapped round one small, chubby finger since the day she’d been born.

      ‘You couldn’t rustle up a sandwich or something as well, could you?’

      Morgan dropped a cardboard box of groceries on the kitchen table beside her, startling her out of her thoughts.

      ‘There’s bread and cheese in there somewhere.’

      ‘When did you last eat?’

      It wouldn’t be held back, the sense of exasperation painfully familiar.

      He paused briefly to consider, then shrugged his broad shoulders.

      ‘Don’t know.’

      He was too close, that evocative scent setting her nerves prickling again. The sun slanting in through the kitchen window gleamed on hair of ebony silk, highlighting sapphire eyes behind a fringe of outrageously thick dark lashes. Narrow hips in snug fitting denim rested casually against the side of the table, and he had rolled up his sleeves revealing tanned and muscular forearms, lightly covered in soft dark hair.

      ‘Didn’t want to waste time stopping. And you know what motorway services are like.’

      And she knew what Morgan was like. Motorway services, with his best-sellers on display in the shops, meant the possibility of being recognised, something he avoided like the plague. Ellie bit down hard on her lip as she struggled with the twist of pain in her heart that came with yet another reminder of just how well she had once known this man.

      ‘But a sandwich would be very welcome…and if you could slice up some tomatoes as well…’

      ‘What did your last servant die of?’ Ellie flung after him, his laughter in response infuriating her further.

      But she was only protesting to save face, she knew. She would do it, dammit. She would make him his coffee and his sandwich not just because she felt she had no option. She couldn’t even deceive herself with the thought that she would do the same for any new guest who had had a long journey.

      She would do it because she couldn’t help herself. Because she could no longer deny herself the opportunity to do this small thing for this man who had once meant all the world to her. Sighing, she rooted in the box, pulled out bread, cheese.

      It was as she was slicing into the crisp crust of the loaf that memory struck, hard and sharp, stilling her hand and holding her frozen, staring straight ahead with sightless, unfocussed eyes.

      It had been—what?—over two years ago. A warm June evening, not unlike today. The night she had moved to Morgan’s London apartment following his suggestion that she come and live with him. Of course, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d been crazily out of her mind with love, her ‘Yes’ had been out of her mouth almost before he’d finished asking, and she had moved in the very next day.

      Then, as now, Morgan had directed her into the kitchen, suggesting she prepare something for them to eat while he unloaded her belongings from the car.

      The knife shook in Ellie’s hand, tears stinging cruelly as she recalled how he had whistled as he’d worked. How each time he had passed her he had flashed that wide, devastating smile that had turned her insides to molten liquid, and snatched a kiss or simply let his hands trail along her back, her shoulders, her hair. It was if he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her and had had to keep reassuring himself that she’d been there.

      And then, when everything had been unloaded, he had come up behind her, sliding strong, warm arms around her slim waist, resting his head on her shoulder, his breath warm against her cheek…

      This had been a mistake, Morgan told himself as he slammed the now-empty boot of the car shut and turned to the last box that still lay on the back seat of the Alfa Romeo. One hell of a stupid mistake.

      It

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