The Jilted Bridegroom
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…Resisting the brooding celebrity…Nurse Sarah Williams is fleeing to the south of France to try and heal her broken heart. But when a half-naked, gorgeous Griff Morgan crosses her path, suddenly her trip gets a lot more interesting…The infamous investigative journalist wears his cynicism towards the female population almost as well as he wears his towel! His ex-bride was a no-show at their very public wedding, and Griff wants to lick his wounds alone. But he can’t get beautiful Sarah out of his mind…
The Jilted Bridegroom
Carole Mortimer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u5bbabf9d-d15a-55df-a8e7-730352fdbb7e)
Title Page (#ue11eb8aa-2fc5-5700-9bda-9215ca10dd05)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue4eefe0b-4c59-5095-b3b7-f5c3b818b9cd)
A MAN’S shirt lay in the hallway.
A pair of trousers along the passageway to the bedrooms.
A pair of black socks, one in the doorway of the spare bedroom, the second actually inside the bedroom.
And outside the door to the adjoining bathroom lay a pair of—–
Sarah, who had followed this trail of clothing, looked up with a start of surprise as the door opened in front of her, her eyes widening still further as she took in the fact that the man standing in the doorway only had a towel draped about his hips to hide his nakedness, his dark hair still damp from the shower he had obviously just taken, although he looked as if he had been drying his tousled hair with another towel that now lay draped about his neck.
It was difficult not to stare at him, his body deeply tanned, dark hair growing across his broad chest and down beneath the towel, his shoulders wide, his body tapering to his tautly muscled stomach, the dark hair on his legs clinging damply to his skin where he hadn't taken the time to dry himself properly.
Sarah's gaze returned quickly to the grimness of his face, an incredibly handsome face, despite his obvious displeasure and puzzlement at finding her here.
She wasn't too happy about being here herself—but that was another story!
It was a ruggedly hewn face, his tawny-coloured eyes having a knowledge in them that spoke plainly of cynicism towards a life that had been seen and experienced rather than just read about. His nose was long and straight, laughter lines beside those incredible eyes and the sensuality of his mouth. Although the mouth wasn't smiling now, and his chin, with that intriguing cleft in its centre, was set at an arrogant angle.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded in English—because her French was non-existent!—infusing much more bravado into her voice than she actually felt. Who was he?
‘Never mind who I am.’ He was as English as she was! ‘What do you think you're doing in here?'
What was she doing here? This was Virginia Major's villa in the tiny village of Aribeau in the south of France, a sprawling one-storey building, the comfortable lounge, kitchen, and three bedrooms all surrounding the small courtyard, baskets of sweet-smelling flowers adorning the wooden beams out there, the lounge itself overlooking the private swimming-pool and landscaped garden.
And, as far as Sarah was aware, there should be no one else here just now, Virginia Major having left several days earlier, stopping over briefly in London during the weekend, for her brother's wedding, before going on to Southampton to join a cruise ship.
The man standing in front of her looked about them with narrowed eyes at her continued lack of response. ‘I can't see that anything is missing,’ he sighed. ‘But perhaps you had better empty out your pockets anyway, just in case.’ He looked irritated by the situation—as he saw it!
And as Sarah now realised he saw it! ‘I'm not a burglar!’ she defended indignantly; if anyone could be called an intruder here it was him!
‘No?’ he derided tauntingly, his expression one of scepticism. ‘I can't think of any other reason for your being in the villa.'
‘Can't you indeed?’ she bit out angrily.
She was resentful enough of being here without having to deal with intruders who acted as if they owned the place. And she knew he didn't do that; it was because the widowed Virginia Major had no one else to ask that Clarissa had volunteered Sarah in the first place!
‘And just what do you think this is?’ she challenged, holding up the brightly coloured watering-can she had been clutching in her hand during the whole conversation.
Dark brows rose. ‘A weapon?’ he suggested derisively.
‘A plastic watering-can!’ Sarah scorned disbelievingly.
‘Hm, perhaps not a weapon. At least,’ he added mockingly, ‘not one that's likely to be very effective.'
Not against a man who looked as powerful as he did, anyway, she conceded impatiently. ‘I told you, I'm not a burglar,’ she snapped irritably, her eyes flashing deeply green.
Really, she had just wanted to get the job over and done with and get out; this man was just delaying her.
‘Then what are you doing walking around the house with it?’ He still looked suspicious of her motives.
Sarah sighed her impatience, sure she shouldn't be the one on the receiving end of the questioning. As far as she was aware, she had the only key to the villa in her shorts pocket, entrusted to her by Virginia Major while she was away.
But this man had to have got in somehow, and she hadn't seen any signs of a forced entry when she'd let herself in earlier.
Because of that she had to accept the fact that he might have obtained a key from someone, and if he did happen to be a friend of Mrs Major's she could hardly order him out of the place. Although if he refused there was no way she could make him leave anyway, he was so much bigger than her.
‘Well?’ he prompted at her lengthy silence, somehow, even dressed in only a towel as he was, managing to look very tall and powerful.
She gave him a disparaging look. ‘Aren't you getting cold, dressed like that?’ She felt uncomfortable carrying on a conversation with a complete stranger who was almost naked, even if he didn't seem in the least bothered by the fact himself.
His mouth quirked at her obvious unease. ‘Not in the least.’ His stance was deliberately provocative, almost challenging, the towel slipping even further down his hips. ‘Is it bothering you?’ He raised mocking brows.
‘Not in the least,’ she echoed coldly. She had seen enough half-dressed men during the last week; it was just that she was alone with this one, and he, as far as she could tell, was wearing only that loosely draped towel!
He shrugged. ‘You still haven't answered my question as to just what you're doing here,’ he reminded softly.
‘I would have thought this spoke for itself.’ Once again she indicated the watering-can she still held, annoyed to see that her hand was shaking slightly at the unexpected encounter with this arrogant man.
‘Oh, it does.’ He strolled further into the bedroom, having all the grace of movement of a feline. ‘It tells me you have a fetish for plastic watering-cans!’ He was standing very close now, close enough for Sarah to smell the cleanness of his body and the slightly elusive cologne he had rubbed into his flesh.
Sarah took an instinctive step backwards, unconcerned with how cowardly the movement must look to him. She was only five feet two inches in height—barely reached the man's shoulders—very slender in close-fitting shorts and a loose green shirt, her face bare of make-up in the hot May sun, her long blonde hair having been bleached even blonder by the hours she had spent out in that sun, secured at her crown with a green ribbon at the moment for coolness.
The totally male assessment of her appearance in this man's golden-coloured eyes as he looked at her made her wish she weren't dressed with the casualness of a teenager; at twenty-three, she was far from being that!
And yet what else should she have worn on a hot day in this picturesque village in the south of France?
‘It tells you…’ Her impatience was directed as much at herself as it was at him, impatience because she could possibly care what this dangerous-looking stranger thought of her appearance.
Dangerous?
Yes, he was, she acknowledged slowly. But not in a violent way. There was an air of power about him, a coldness in his eyes occasionally that spoke of cruelty if necessary. And something about the very look of him told her that sometimes he deemed it very necessary.
‘It should tell you,’ she amended pointedly, ‘that I'm here to water the plants.'
And she wasn't exactly pleased about having to do it! She had come on holiday with Clarissa and her family as a favour to the other woman, and ended up being lent out to water Virginia Major's plants as if she were a servant.
‘Hm.’ The man in front of her nodded thoughtfully, as if the idea had crossed his mind before now. ‘Why?’ He shot the question at her.
It was the question she had been asking herself the last five days! Virginia Major was Clarissa's acquaintance, not hers, and yet Clarissa had felt no compunction about offering her services as plant-waterer. Admittedly she was here with the family on a working holiday, but she had done that more as a favour to her mother's friend than out of any real desire to come away with the Forbes family. She certainly hadn't expected to be loaned out to a neighbour Clarissa had got to know only briefly. But Clarissa certainly had no intention of doing this menial job herself, despite being the one to make the offer in the first place!
‘So that the plants don't die, of course.’ She answered the man snappily again, not exactly angry with him, but if he wanted to ask silly questions he was the one who was going to get the sharp edge of her tongue.
‘Ah,’ he nodded again, without conviction, ‘I see.'
Sarah gave a derisive sigh. ‘Do you?'
‘No,’ he admitted ruefully, looking for all the world like a puzzled little boy.
She pursed her mouth impatiently, not at all fooled by his expression; this man was sharply intelligent, she had no doubt of that. ‘It's quite simple really,’ she said with an implied sarcasm. ‘While Mrs Major is away I come in to check that the villa hasn't been broken in to, and to water whatever plants I feel are in need of it.'
‘It's very good of you to do that for Virginia,’ he said admiringly.
‘Not really,’ Sarah told him drily.
He arched dark brows. ‘No?'
‘No,’ she smiled wryly. Clarissa had got to know their English neighbour only briefly before the other woman flew to England. It was ironic really; they had all travelled over here to spend a month in the south of France, and Virginia Major had left the permanent home she had here a few days later to join a cruise ship that was travelling around the Caribbean Islands.
At least, Clarissa and Roger and their three children—Ben, eighteen, Sally, sixteen, and Stephen, nine—were here on holiday; Sarah had been asked along to help out Clarissa, who had recently been in hospital for a minor operation and felt she couldn't cope with the care of Stephen on her own, mainly. This was Sarah's own holiday from her nursing job, but as she hadn't actually been intending to go away anywhere, and, as a favour to her mother, she had agreed to accompany the Forbes family to France.
Not having lived at home with her mother for some years, she had known the Forbes family only vaguely. She had certainly got to know all of them better over the last ten days, wished she had stayed at home to do the decorating in her flat she had originally intended to fill her holiday time!
She had done nothing but run around after one member of the family or another since their arrival here. She had certainly ended up doing much more than helping out with young Stephen. It had been adding insult to injury when Clarissa had calmly offered Sarah's services as housekeeper for Virginia Major because the other woman had given her own maid the same three weeks’ holiday as herself, having forgotten all about her plants’ needing watering!
And at only her second visit here she had walked into goodness knew what sort of a situation. But this man's use, minutes ago, of Mrs Major's first name at least confirmed he knew her well enough for that. Unless she had in-advertently used it herself? No, she was sure she hadn't, not friendly with the other woman enough herself to be so familiar. And there was the fact that he was English too—that had to be more than coincidence.
‘I'm staying in the neighbouring villa you can see slightly down the hillside,’ she supplied irritably, wishing she knew exactly what was going on.
He moved to the window, the towel slipping precariously as he leant forward to look out at the roof of the pink and cream villa that could just be seen through the trees.
He turned back to her, grinning rakishly as he retrieved the towel before it could fall off him completely. ‘Another of the idle rich, hm?’ he taunted.
Her mouth twisted. ‘The family I'm here working for may be,’ she bit out, ‘but I'm certainly not. I'm here to look after their nine-year-old son Stephen.’ But she had also become chief cook and bottle-washer since arriving here! The Forbeses hadn't needed a temporary nanny for Stephen—they had needed a cook and a maid as well. And she seemed to fit the description! She had already decided she would never be swayed by family affection and help out so-called friends of her mother again.
‘So you're a sort of nanny, Miss…?’ He looked at her enquiringly.
‘Williams,’ she supplied abruptly. ‘Sarah Williams. And I'm not a sort of anything, I'm actually a trained nurse on holiday. Or, at least, supposedly so,’ she added drily. ‘I've answered your questions; now perhaps you could answer a few of mine.’ She made no move to go through to the rest of the villa, even though there were no more plants to be watered in this room.
She was very much aware of the precariousness of her position alone in the villa with an almost naked man, but she felt she would be better standing her ground rather than making a move of any sort, particularly one that could look in the least nervous.
‘Who are you?’ She looked at him challengingly. ‘And what are you doing here?'
‘My name is Griff Morgan.’ He held out his hand to her politely, incongruously so in the circumstances. ‘It's Griffin really, but even people who aren't my friends call me Griff,’ he added with a mischievous grin. ‘Virginia calls me Griff,’ he added cajolingly.
Sarah took the proffered hand automatically, so disconcerted now that she didn't even notice when he forgot to let go of her hand again.
She frowned her puzzlement. ‘Mrs Major didn't mention that anyone was coming to stay at the villa while she was away. In fact,’ she shrugged, ‘that's the reason I was asked to come here, because there was no one else.'
Griff smiled, the tawny-coloured eyes warm as his gaze swept across the golden loveliness of her face. ‘That's because Virginia didn't know I was going to be here. I didn't know it myself until yesterday.’ He grimaced.
Sarah looked at him curiously. ‘What happened yesterday?'
He gave a derisive shrug. ‘I felt in need of a break,’ he dismissed lightly.
‘But—Griff Morgan!’ Her eyes had widened with sudden recognition of the name. ‘You're the investigative reporter, aren't you?’ she realised incredulously.
Most people, in England at least, had heard of the name Griff Morgan; he had made a career out of the type of exposé stories that the general public couldn't help but notice, sparing that public none of the graphic details.
Yes, Griff Morgan knew of all the hell life had to offer, had seen most of it first-hand. Which probably accounted for that air of cynicism she had sensed about him on such brief acquaintance. And yet he seemed to have maintained his sense of humour too, those laughter lines about his eyes and mouth not a figment of her imagination.
‘That's me,’ he confirmed lightly, dismissing the idea of any importance being attached to that.
‘I read the stories on drug addiction you did last year.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘They were harrowing!'
Something of the horror flickered in his own eyes, and then disappeared, the amusement instantly back in his expression. ‘They were meant to be,’ he said dismissively. ‘And the answer to the second question you asked me a minute ago is that, for the moment, I'm staying here.'
Sarah frowned at this knowledge. ‘When you say “staying here” do you mean—–?'
‘I mean,’ Griff Morgan took up her hesitant speech, ‘that until I decide otherwise I'm going to live at the villa. I always stay here when I can get away,’ he added with a shrug as she still didn't look convinced. Griff looked amused—at her expense! ‘I'm sure that once Virginia gets back from her cruise she'll confirm all this for you. In the meantime—–'
‘In the meantime I think you should let go of my hand!’ She extricated herself with difficulty, having suddenly become aware of a lightly caressing thumb against her palm, the intimacy of the action not lost on her. ‘I really do have to finish watering these plants,’ she added, slightly agitated, a delicate blush to her cheeks.
He strolled across the bedroom to sort through the crumpled clothes that lay in the open suitcase on the floor. ‘I just fell into bed when I arrived last night,’ he ruefully explained the untidiness. ‘I was a little tired. No—make that exhausted,’ he grimaced.
‘Have you been working on another story?’ She found it difficult to keep the avid interest out of her voice, intrigued in spite of herself.
Besides, it helped take her mind off the rumpled intimacy of the bed behind him, the indentation his head had left on the pillow still there from when he had got out of bed earlier.
‘Something like that,’ he said drily.
‘They said that when you did the drug-addiction stories last year you actually took drugs yourself.’ She frowned at the danger of that much dedication, important as it was to expose the people who pushed and sold those drugs.
‘Never!’ he denied harshly, making a visible effort to regain his composure as he realised he had briefly lost it. ‘I wouldn't get involved in that destruction for any price. No, Sarah,’ he shook his head, ‘I just gave a good impression of being involved. I was lucky enough to get away with it. Most of the people in that business play dirty.’ He frowned, the humour he made such an effort to maintain once again pushed aside in favour of a stronger emotion, anger this time. ‘Very dirty,’ he added grimly.
‘Is it worth risking your life just to get a story?’ She shook her head.
His mouth quirked, the warmth back in his eyes, making Sarah wonder if she had imagined the cold anger in his face a moment ago. Looking at him now, lazily relaxed, it was hard to imagine him being anything else. He looked like a man who enjoyed life to the full.
He tapped her lightly on the end of her nose with one long, tapered finger. ‘All of life is a gamble, little one,’ he drawled. ‘And if I didn't achieve more than getting a story for all that effort maybe it wouldn't be worth it,’ he added seriously. ‘But if it means just one of those ba—–one pusher,’ he amended tautly, ‘can be put behind bars then that's reason enough for me to take the risk. I can't believe that you, as a nurse, don't have a similar opinion,’ he cajoled.
She did. Of course she did. But, ‘I don't risk my own life trying to do something about it.'
‘You can't seem to make up your mind whether that's a good thing or a bad thing,’ he said teasingly. ‘Let's forget about all that,’ he dismissed firmly. ‘And you can answer me a question that's been puzzling me ever since I got here.'
Sarah couldn't look away from the warmth of those tawny-coloured eyes, mesmerised by their depths, held captive by the deep gold flecks within the light brown. ‘Yes?’ she prompted huskily.
He grinned, the cleft looking twice as endearing. ‘Where the hell is Jasper?’ His mouth quirked with humour. ‘I haven't seen the little devil since I arrived.'
Sarah gave him a slightly scathing look for the frivolousness of the question after they had been talking so seriously. But then, maybe this was his answer to not being completely destroyed by the horrors of life that he wrote about. As a nurse, she too had to deal with life or death situations which, if she'd allowed herself to become too emotionally involved, could have driven her completely insane.
‘Mrs Major felt it would be better if her cat went to board at his usual place while she was away,’ she dismissed, just glad that Clarissa hadn't volunteered her to look after the damned cat too! ‘Apparently, he needs a lot of care, and—–'
‘Virginia has created a monster,’ he acknowledged. ‘It comes of not having any children, I believe.'
‘I wouldn't know about that.’ Sarah was deliberately evasive, not wishing to get into a discussion about the other woman's private life with a man who was, at least to her, a complete stranger. Even if he did seem to know Virginia Major and her lifestyle very well.
It was in what capacity he knew the other woman that kept niggling away at her.
She gave him a searching look, seeing past the humour and charm to the rugged leanness of his body, the sensual knowledge in his eyes. In his mid-thirties, there was no doubting that he was devastatingly attractive.
But just where did Virginia Major fit into his life? Or, rather, he into hers, as he appeared to be the one who was a guest in her villa?
The other woman was older than him by at least ten years, possibly as many as fifteen. But she was still a beautiful woman, had a sexily voluptuous figure that showed to advantage in the fashionably flattering clothes she always wore, her hair still silkily blonde, her face youthfully beautiful with the aid of expertly applied make-up.
Sarah knew little or nothing about the other woman's personal life, and she knew that much to her chagrin, Clarissa hadn't been able to find out a lot about her private life either. Not that she hadn't tried!
Sarah wasn't too proud of the suspicions she now had concerning the relationship between Griff Morgan and Virginia Major, but she couldn't help wondering if the reason the other woman had kept so much to herself while living here was because she preferred the friends she had made while living in England—one very special ‘friend’ in particular. Goodness knew, Virginia Major would be far from the first woman to make a fool of herself over some unsuitable man. Who knew that better than Sarah herself?
Tawny-coloured eyes were narrowed on her as she looked up at Griff, his expression questioning. ‘Is there something wrong?’ He frowned.
‘Nothing at all,’ she denied briskly, breaking his gaze abruptly. ‘I really must finish up here and be on my way; I promised Stephen that I would take him swimming before lunch.’ And there was likely to be a temper tantrum if she didn't keep her word. Of the three children Stephen was most like his mother, given to venting his temper if he didn't get his own way.
Living in such close contact with Clarissa these last ten days had certainly given Sarah a new insight into the woman who had always seemed so beautiful and charming on the few occasions she had been visiting Sarah's mother at the same time as Sarah herself.
‘Look, if you would like to finish watering the plants while I throw on some clothes,’ Griff suggested briskly, ‘we can carry on talking over a cup of coffee.'
‘And how would—your friend, Mrs Major, feel about that?’ Sarah voiced her thoughts about that relationship, having no intention of becoming a bone of contention between the two over the simple sharing of a cup of coffee!
‘Virginia?’ He sounded surprised that she should even come into consideration over the casual suggestion. ‘She wouldn't mind your having—– Ah,’ he nodded slowly as her meaning sank in. ‘My friend Virginia,’ he repeated in amusement. ‘Well, I really don't think she could object to my offering you a cup of coffee. And I've never known her to be the possessive type.’ He looked Sarah over speculatively. ‘So if you're lonely during your stay here…'
Sarah's cheeks became flushed at the innuendo. ‘Just because you're having an affair with a woman almost old enough to be your mother is no reason to think you can insult me!’ she bit out scornfully.
‘I wasn't insulting you, Sarah,’ he mocked. ‘Far from it. Some women would have seen my suggestion as a compliment.'
‘Well, I'm not one of them!’ She shuddered at the thought of it; out of the frying-pan into the fire!
‘Obviously,’ he drawled derisively. ‘And I'm sure Virginia wouldn't appreciate that remark you made about her being almost old enough to be my mother; she's only in her forties.'
‘Still far too old for you,’ Sarah maintained stiffly.
‘I believe she might prefer to be called experienced rather than old,’ Griff taunted. ‘And don't mock the fact that I stay here often between stories; my name may be known worldwide, all my expenses paid by my newspaper, but reporters themselves don't actually earn that much money, and when I'm not working I like to enjoy life.’ He shrugged. ‘As you can see, by this villa, the pool out back, Virginia is rich enough to ensure that I do that.'
Sarah looked at him with distaste as his meaning became clear. ‘And in return for providing all this luxury she gets you,’ she said with contempt. ‘I never imagined Griff Morgan as no more than a kept man!'
‘Well, now you know,’ he mocked.
‘Now I know,’ she echoed with disgust. ‘I think I had better be going.’ She turned to leave, totally disillusioned with the way this incredibly talented man chose to live. ‘I can finish watering the rest of the plants tomorrow.’ When he wouldn't be here, she hoped!
‘Yes—you mustn't keep Stephen waiting,’ he derided softly, following her out to the hallway. ‘I'd rather be answerable to a beautiful woman like Virginia than a spoilt child,’ he softly mocked her.
‘Then that's where we differ.’ She turned to glare at him as she reached the door, her head tilted back as he stood too close to her, the dark hair completely dry now, curling softly over his forehead and ears. ‘I only have another two and a half weeks of this to put up with, and then I'm never going to be answerable to this particular spoilt child again.’ She was only seeing it through this time because she knew her mother would never forgive her if she supposedly let down her good friend Clarissa. Sarah's own sense of family loyalty was enough to make her see through what was turning into a hellish holiday.
She shook her head impatiently at Griff Morgan. ‘I never would have believed this of you. All of your articles have dealt with a freedom of some kind, and now it turns out you're no better than a—a gigolo yourself!’ Her eyes were full of the disillusionment she had suffered through this knowledge. This man had always seemed to represent a certain truth, a freedom, and yet he sold his own principles for a life of comfort and physical indulgence whenever he required it.
‘I am?’ He seemed amused at the prospect. ‘Maybe I should do a story based on that very subject.'
Her eyes flashed her disgust. ‘You certainly wouldn't have to go very far for the research!'
She was still shaking with anger by the time she got into the hire-car Clarissa and Roger let her use to drive over here, colour darkening her cheeks as she turned from reversing down the driveway to find Griffin Morgan watching her from the open doorway of the villa, completely unconcerned by the fact that he still only wore a towel draped about his hips to hide his nakedness!
She dragged her gaze away with effort, unable to deny his undoubted attraction, despite knowing what she now did about his personal life.
Unfortunately, much as she tried, she couldn't shake the man from her thoughts for the rest of the day. She had never met anyone quite like him before, and she found herself indulging in thoughts of him at the most inopportune moments, only giving half her usual attention to Stephen, a fact he took full advantage of by being more unruly than normal, culminating in his pushing a newly oiled Sally into the pool, the water a cool shock to her skin. Her outraged screams woke Clarissa up as she slept on one of the loungers beside the pool, and even the easygoing Roger looked irritated by the commotion as he rushed from inside the villa to see what all the noise was about.
Sally created such a fuss that Sarah was left feeling the one responsible for the whole incident, Stephen gently but indulgently scolded by his mother for his ‘teasing'!
‘Just ignore Sally,’ Ben advised as Sarah prepared a salad for dinner, her movements controlled as she did her best to hold on to her own temper—and her tongue!
Ignore that spoilt little madam! Sarah knew what she would like to do with the young girl—with the whole family, in fact.
Of them all Ben was undoubtedly the nicest, often taking pity on her and helping her out with the numerous jobs that seemed to be included under the liberal title Clarissa had given her of ‘family help'.
Sarah knew she wouldn't have got herself into this situation at all if she hadn't thought a break away from England was exactly what she needed right now. Not ‘what the doctor ordered’ certainly; Simon had been furious at her plans to go to France for a month, but it had been his very anger that had given her the impetus to accept Clarissa's offer in the first place.
He had a lot to answer for!
It was almost nine o'clock that evening before she really had a chance to sit down and relax, indulging herself with the English newspapers that had been purchased that morning. They were one day old, but this reminder of home, of a promised end to this so-called ‘working holiday', was another one of the things that kept her from telling Clarissa what she thought of her and her spoilt family.
Sarah gave an inward gasp at the picture of Griff with a smilingly lovely woman at his side on the third page of the first newspaper she opened. The story that accompanied the photograph made her gasp even more.
Saturday should have been Griff Morgan's wedding-day!
CHAPTER TWO (#ue4eefe0b-4c59-5095-b3b7-f5c3b818b9cd)
THE woman standing at Griff's side in the photograph was his fiancée, Sandra Preston, the daughter of the owner of the group of newspapers Griff worked for. Griff had waited at the altar for his bride for almost an hour, finally having to accept that she had no intention of arriving.
My God, no wonder he had seemed so cynical and—and yes, slightly reckless today. Sarah wasn't to have known it at the time, but that cynicism, at least part of it, obviously came from the recent hurt he had suffered at the hands of his fiancée, and in such a humiliating way.
How could any woman leave a man standing at the altar in that way, knowing she had no intention of joining him there?
It said in the newspaper article that Sandra Preston had gone off to the family home in the Bahamas to ‘get away for a while and think', and the reporter wondered where the jilted bridegroom had disappeared to. In fact, the headline of the story was, ‘Where are you, Griff?'
Sarah knew exactly where the jilted bridegroom was. He was staying at the villa of another woman, a beautiful older woman who—– Bridegroom… wedding…? Virginia Major had gone to London to attend her brother's wedding!
Oh, dear God, Griff Morgan had to be that brother; it would be too much of a coincidence for it to be any other way.
Not that Sarah could exactly blame him for letting her go on assuming the couple were lovers rather than siblings; she had made that conclusion on only a few minutes’ acquaintance, and, after Griff's recent disillusionment, he must have just decided it was yet another kick in the teeth from a woman.
It was no good telling herself it wouldn't have happened at all if she hadn't been feeling so angry and frustrated by all the Forbes family. There was no excuse for the things she had said to Griff, for the assumption she had made; she had just been taking out her bad temper on him.
He must have been angry himself after the hurt and humiliation he had so recently been put through.
She put the newspaper down and stood up. ‘I—I think I'll just go out for a stroll,’ she announced to no one in particular, knowing that each member of this family was so self-engrossed that it wouldn't matter to any of them what she did—as long as none of them wanted something doing in her absence!
Clarissa looked up from the magazine she had been flicking through, a tall leggy redhead, still very beautiful, despite being in her early forties. ‘Don't be ridiculous, Sarah,’ she dismissed scathingly. ‘You'll get eaten alive by the bugs out there!'
‘Oh, but—–'
‘Besides,’ the other woman added firmly, ‘Roger and I are going down to Cannes shortly, so I'll need you to stay here with the children.'
There were the usual protests at being called a child from Ben and Sally.
Sarah felt like protesting herself. She had spent almost every evening of their stay with the children while Clarissa and Roger went off to one night-spot or another. The couple usually arrived back in the early hours of the morning, and then spent the following day sleeping it off in the sunshine.
Roger himself gave a groan of protest at this proposal, a much less social person, but the protest was quickly talked down by his much more dominating wife.
Sarah knew she might as well give up any idea of going for a walk tonight.
‘Never mind, Sarah,’ Ben grinned at her, as darkly good-looking as his company-director father, but with more of his mother's vivacity for life, ‘you can beat us at dominoes if you like!'
That was the extent of her own night-life on this holiday!
But she gave a weary nod of acceptance as Sally flounced off to her bedroom after requesting to go into Cannes with her parents and being firmly refused.
Loud music soon blared out from her bedroom, and Sarah gave an inward plea for it not to wake Stephen—he would be awake half the night once he was disturbed. And, consequently, so would she!
But her mind was far from on the game of dominoes, the subject of Griff Morgan uppermost in her thoughts. She felt so awful about the way she had behaved with him now. And what sort of woman was Sandra Preston to do such a thing to him?
‘Don't wait up for us, Sarah,’ Clarissa told her coyly when she emerged from changing a short time later, her black dress clinging to her revealingly, her hair loose about her shoulders, her make-up heavier than she wore during the day. ‘We expect to be late!’ she added suggestively, clinging to Roger's arm as the couple left the villa.
No, Sarah frowned, she refused to believe there could be another woman like Clarissa. And yet Sandra Preston's behaviour seemed vaguely familiar in its selfishness…
She couldn't escape thoughts of Griff Morgan the next day either, wishing the time away until she could go over to the neighbouring villa, but knowing she would have to see the Forbes family settled in relative peace about the pool before excusing herself to go to the Major villa and water the plants.
It seemed a little out of place to use the key Mrs Major had left for her now; if Griff Morgan was still here—and she sincerely hoped he was!—then it could be a little awkward for both of them if she just walked in on him as she had the last time.
This time he might not even have got to the stage of wrapping the towel about his waist!
Sarah decided it might be wiser—and safer!—to knock on the door and wait to see if he answered it, moving restlessly on the doorstep as she waited for a response to her knock.
There wasn't one, and her disappointment was acute as she dejectedly let herself in with her key, coming to a startled halt as Griffin Morgan walked down the hallway towards her, wearing only a pair of bathing trunks this time!
‘Come in, Sarah Williams,’ he invited huskily, as she still stood in the doorway. ‘I've been expecting you.'
She swallowed hard, watching dazedly as he walked past her, the slight thud of the door closing behind her somehow seeming final—and irrevocable.
‘Sorry I didn't answer the door when you knocked.’ He moved to stand in front of her now. ‘I was lounging by the pool, and by the time I had realised it was actually someone knocking at the door you had already let yourself in.'
‘I'm sorry about that. I—I still have the key.’ She held it up for him to see, very conscious of the lean length of his body in the hip-hugging black bathing trunks, a gold medallion of St Christopher nestling in the dark hair on his chest today—and how apt that was, considering the amount of travelling around the world this man did. ‘Perhaps I should give you the key back while you're staying here,’ she suggested abruptly. ‘I really shouldn't have just walked in here this morning, uninvited.'
Griff smiled as he moved his hand dismissively, his eyes the colour of warm golden honey, a strange contrast to his dark hair and tanned skin. ‘You thought I was out,’ he excused. ‘Besides, I quite like having you just walk in. Do you realise you're the first person I've seen, apart from the gardener, since I arrived here two days ago? And his conversation is limited,’ he added with a grimace. ‘I'm sure my French isn't that bad!'
Sarah smiled. ‘He's actually a little deaf.'
Griff's expression cleared. ‘And I thought he was ignoring me!’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘I'll have to remember to talk louder the next time I see him.'
She nodded. ‘He's really very nice.'
He quirked dark brows. ‘How about the coffee we didn't manage the last time you were here?'
‘I—–'
‘Don't refuse, Sarah,’ he cut in quickly. ‘I've been waiting for you to arrive all morning. I've already thrown away two pots of coffee that became stewed because I wasn't sure what time you would arrive today. Come on, Sarah, take pity on a fellow Brit, and accept,’ he encouraged huskily.
She was very much aware that it was loneliness that motivated the invitation, but nevertheless, when he put it like this, it was heady stuff. And there lay the danger.
‘Just to show you've forgiven me for yesterday,’ he added persuasively.
Her eyes widened at this. ‘That I've forgiven you? But you didn't do anything. I was the one who was offhand and pompous. I should never—–'
‘Offhand and pompous?’ Griff mocked lightly. ‘My, you are on a guilt trip, aren't you? So you found out about my fiasco of a wedding-day—–'
‘It was in all the English newspapers,’ she sympathised.
‘Finding out about that mess changes nothing.’ He gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. ‘I'm still the same person you were disgusted by yesterday.'
Sarah looked at him reprovingly. ‘Virginia Major is your sister.'
‘Ah, so you realised that too, did you?’ He nodded appreciatively. ‘Knowing my snobbish sister as I do, I don't think she would have been too thrilled by that other assumption you made about our relationship. Virginia is a great one for keeping up appearances,’ he added derisively. ‘Would have been scandalised that anyone could possibly think she would be involved in an affair. And especially one with a younger man!’ he drawled.
Sarah groaned. ‘I already feel badly enough about that!'
‘Then let's not discuss my dear sister any further,’ he dismissed easily. ‘Why don't you go and water her plants while I pour us both some coffee? We mustn't let the plants fade away and die or she'll blame me for that too; I've already upset her enough by being left at the altar. She just may “never recover from the embarrassment of it all”.’ He grimaced ruefully as he mimicked the haughty tones of his older sister.
But from the little Sarah had come to know of the other woman, before she'd left for England, she wasn't at all surprised that this was her attitude over Griff's being jilted in the way he had. He was making very light of his own humiliation, probably because to dwell on it would be far too painful. No one could come away from an experience like that unscathed, and from the depth and emotion of Griff's newspaper articles it was easy to tell he was a sensitive person.
‘Black, with one sugar,’ she told him lightly. ‘The coffee,’ she prompted as he instantly looked puzzled.
He gave a self-derisive laugh. ‘I thought it must be some type of food for the plants!'
‘Perhaps it is,’ Sarah derided, deciding to follow his lead and treat this second meeting as lightly as he seemed to want to. But no matter how he dismissed it she knew Sandra Preston's treatment of him had affected him deeply—as it would any man! She could see that by the strain about his eyes when he wasn't smiling that mischievous grin. ‘But I'm not about to try it!’ She gave a rueful laugh, following him through to the kitchen, filling up the brightly coloured watering-can before leaving him to pour the coffee.
The casual untidiness she had noticed in his bedroom yesterday seemed to have affected the rest of the villa today, things lying about haphazardly in every room, only Virginia Major's bedroom remaining exempt from the clutter. Now that she was aware of his real relationship to the other woman this perhaps wasn't so surprising! If she had actually bothered to think yesterday she would have realised that if he were Virginia Major's lover, as she had assumed he was, he would have been sharing the other woman's bedroom. Being sensible after the event wasn't really a lot of help to either of them!
Despite being siblings, Virginia Major and Griff Morgan were complete opposites, to look at and by nature. Virginia Major had a deep reserve about her, was extremely fastidious in all that she did, seeming to feel that everything had a place, and that it should be kept there. Griff was more open—probably considered that life was too short to be anything else—and his untidiness was all too obvious. Virginia was as tall as her brother, but instead of being dark like Griff she was a golden blonde, with slightly calculating blue eyes. Maybe, after all, Sarah could be forgiven for making such a wrong assumption about them!
She hummed softly to herself as she moved about the main bedroom, feeling a little more relaxed now that the initial awkwardness of seeing and talking to Griff again had passed. She accepted that he preferred to make light of the whole incident, because to dwell on it would only result in his having to go into further detail about Saturday, and he—–
She let out a terrified scream as she heard something hiss down near her feet, too terrified even to look down, just in case it was something horrific.
Oh, God…! Griff Morgan had been to some exotic locations during his career—lord knew what it was that had made that hissing noise. Although her imagination was running wild.
‘I heard you cry out.’ A worried-looking Griff came hurrying into the room, still holding the sugar bowl in his hand where he had rushed straight from the kitchen after hearing her scream. ‘What happened?’ His sharp-eyed gaze moved quickly but methodically about the room, returning to her with a puzzled frown when he could find nothing there that could have caused her obvious distress. ‘Sarah?’ he prompted in a puzzled voice.
She was still frozen to the spot, too frightened to move. ‘I—it's down there,’ she told him through stiff lips, so tense that she couldn't even nod her head in the direction of the floor.
Griff gave her a look that clearly doubted her sanity, although his barely perceptible shrug seemed to imply he was perfectly willing to humour her, for the moment at least. ‘What is?’ he prompted cajolingly.
His condescending tone made her eyes flash deeply green. ‘How should I know?’ she snapped fiercely. ‘I was just watering the plants near the bed here when I heard something hissing!'
Griff looked at her silently for several seconds before pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘But you… didn't see what… hissed at you?’ His expression was bland.
‘No,’ she confirmed shakily. ‘Don't just stand there.’ Her body was so tense now that she felt as if she might snap. ‘Do something!'
‘Hold this, will you?’ He placed the sugar bowl into one of her shaking hands. ‘Perhaps it went under Virginia's bed.’ He went down on his hands and knees, lifting up the frilled ruffle to look underneath. ‘Yes, there he is.’ He nodded his satisfaction, sitting back on his heels to look at the long bare length of Sarah's legs, making her very conscious of the brief cut of her green shorts, her bare feet thrust into white sandals. ‘You weren't bitten?’ He frowned up at her.
‘No,’ she shook her head tautly. ‘I—is it… poisonous?'
‘No,’ Griff assured her. ‘But you're sure your skin wasn't broken?'
Oh, God, what was wrong? ‘No, it didn't actually touch me,’ she explained tightly.
‘Good.’ He nodded his satisfaction. ‘Not that I think Jasper has rabies,’ he dismissed. ‘But I wouldn't want to take the risk with you.’ He lifted the pink ruffle about the base of the bed again. ‘Come on out, Jasper,’ he persuaded. ‘Come on, no one is going to hurt you.'
Jasper? She had been frightened of a cat?
Griff picked up the metal-grey-coloured cat as he strode haughtily out from under the bed, looking for all the world as if he couldn't understand what all the fuss was about.
‘I telephoned the boarding kennels yesterday after you had left, to see how he was,’ Griff explained. ‘They said the old devil was pining, so I brought him home last night.'
So he might not have been at home if she had walked across last night anyway.
The tense atmosphere at the neighbouring villa must be making a nervous wreck of her. What had she thought was under the bed—a snake? God, if only the ground would open up and swallow her!
But there was never a miracle around when you needed one, and somehow she was going to have to get through this second embarrassment of making a fool of herself in front of this man. It was becoming too much of a habit!
She put a hand up to her burning cheeks. ‘I don't know what to say…'
Griff put the cat down—the ungrateful creature instantly going back under the bed—taking the sugar bowl from Sarah's unresisting fingers; she had forgotten she even held it! ‘Your coffee will be getting cold again,’ he realised with a sigh.
‘Did you really throw two pots away before I arrived?’ she asked breathlessly, following him back to the kitchen, grateful to him for not making too much of the fact that she had just made a complete idiot of herself again. A snake. God, how was she ever going to live down making such a mistake?
‘I don't lie, Sarah.’ Griff was suddenly serious. ‘I never have the time for it. I'm rarely in one place long enough to bother with subterfuge,’ he added in a harsh voice.
Maybe it was that very precariousness of his profession that had made Sandra Preston change her mind about committing herself to him after all. It could never be easy being married to a man you weren't sure was in danger or not.
But that didn't excuse the fact that the other woman had humiliated him in front of the whole world, making a much respected man a thing of ridicule and speculation.
‘A glass of water would do me just as well,’ she assured him as he poured away the cooling coffee and filled the mugs up again from the percolator.
‘I'm determined you're going to taste the “Morgan coffee” before you leave today,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Let's go and sit by the pool and drink it,’ he suggested as he picked up the two mugs. ‘You can always finish watering the plants later. Unless you're in a hurry to leave again today?’ He frowned at the thought, obviously not relishing the idea of being on his own again quite so soon, even if he had come here initially for solitude.
Clarissa would probably be hysterical when Sarah returned if she actually had to look after Stephen herself for too long, but for the moment Sarah just didn't care.
‘Not for a little while, anyway,’ she answered noncommittally.
He looked so pleased she was sparing the time to have coffee with him that Sarah instantly felt guilty for not initially showing more enthusiasm for the idea herself.
But she was very conscious of the fact that he was a man who had been literally jilted at the altar, and the last thing she wanted was for him to think she would be interested in helping him salve his wounds in anything but a friendly capacity. She found him very attractive, and in other circumstances—for both of them!—would have welcomed the idea of getting to know him better. But at the moment he was far too vulnerable to actually know what he was doing. And the last thing Sarah needed right now was to be involved in a rebound love.
As a way of making amends for her tardiness she took a sip of the coffee he had been making such a fuss about her drinking.
The ‘Morgan coffee’ was so strong that Sarah almost choked on it, sure that if she left her spoon in it too long the metal would disintegrate!
She gave Griff an encouraging smile as he looked at her enquiringly, seeming unaffected by the strong brew himself.
He chuckled softly as her eyes actually watered when she took a second tentative sip. ‘It's helped to keep me awake on more than one occasion,’ he explained derisively.
Sarah blinked back the tears. ‘With heartburn?’ As soon as the words had left her lips she regretted having spoke them. This man's heart had to be more than ‘burning’ at the moment, and once again she had said the wrong thing. Couldn't she do anything right where this man was concerned? ‘I'm so sorry—–’ she began.
‘Don't be,’ he cut in harshly. ‘Just forget about all that, OK?'
She was trying to, and knew he was too, but it was very difficult to forget the circumstances of his being here at all. By rights he should probably have been off somewhere with Sandra, on their honeymoon.
‘But, before we forget about it completely, I'd just like to thank you for not revealing my whereabouts to my avid colleagues the moment you realised who I was.’ His derisive expression told her just what he thought of those ‘colleagues’ at this moment.
‘It never occurred to me to do such a thing!’ she gasped her indignation, her eyes wide.
‘I had a feeling I could trust you.’ He nodded. ‘That's why I stayed put rather than disappearing again. You really are a nice lady, Sarah Williams.’ Tawny-coloured eyes, narrowed with sensual appraisal, swept over the long length of her legs, the snug fit of her shorts, to the brief black camisole top she wore, before moving to the healthy shine of her confined hair and the fresh beauty of her face. ‘A very nice lady,’ he repeated softly.
And no man had ever made her feel so completely feminine with just a look before either, making her forget completely her indignation of a few minutes ago.
It would be sheer madness on her part to let herself become involved with this man; he was only looking for a little female reassurance after being jilted by the woman he loved, before disappearing back to his own world again.
Sheer madness, she warned herself again sternly.
Her hand trembled slightly as she smoothed back her hair self-consciously. ‘I think I should be going now,’ she began dismissively, doing her best to ignore the physical splendour of the man as he sat on the lounger so close to her own, their legs almost touching.
‘Don't go yet, Sarah.’ Griff put a hand lightly on her arm, his gaze troubled.
She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘I really do have to go—–'
He sighed. ‘I meant what I said just now as a compliment, not the prelude to a pass,’ he told her wearily. ‘Besides, I thought you might stay and have a swim with me,’ he added persuasively as he sensed her resolve was weakening.
This man was too clever by half, and the blue reflected water did look inviting, the sun shining hotly overhead.
This villa was the last on this rolling hillside, high trees about its perimeter affording them complete privacy from prying eyes.
It was very tempting to accept his invitation on a day when the temperature must be in the high eighties, and yet still she hesitated, unnerved by this man. ‘I don't have a costume with me—–'
‘Borrow one of Virginia's,’ he instantly offered as he saw victory looming. ‘I noticed several of them in the changing-rooms. And, while the two of you might not have the same… measurements, I'm sure you could find something of hers that would do just for today,’ he encouraged warmly.
While not exactly flat-chested, Sarah knew she certainly wasn't as voluptuous as his sister, a fact he seemed more than aware of too.
And why not? He was probably a connoisseur when it came to women, an expert in the way they looked if his beautiful fiancée was anything to go by!
Sarah accepted that she wasn't in the other woman's league when it came to looks or sophistication. But one thing she was sure of: she would never have put any man through the humiliation of being stood up at the altar!
She didn't like the way Sandra Preston had treated Griff, and if enjoying her company for a while helped take his mind off that then why shouldn't she do what he suggested?
It was with these rebellious thoughts in mind that Sarah went into one of the changing cubicles beside the pool.
As Griff had predicted, there were several bathing costumes in there, the two bikinis she picked up first completely unsuitable: the tops of them would have looked indecent, they were so big!
But at the bottom of the pile was a plain black costume that stretched over the body rather than fitted. It wasn't ideal by any means, but it was preferable to not being able to swim at all.
Griff was already in the water when she emerged out into the sunshine, his body sleek and powerful as he moved easily down the length of the pool.
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