Wish For The Moon. Carole Mortimer

       Wish for the Moon

      Carole Mortimer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       EPILOGUE

       Copyright

       PROLOGUE

      SHE felt a little like Cinderella must have done when she had her first glimpse of Prince Charming.

      Not that the circumstances were quite the same: she didn’t have two wicked stepsisters, only her cousin Fergus, but he could definitely be wicked! And although she had been orphaned at birth, her Aunt Madge was nothing like a wicked stepmother, and Uncle Hector could be very kind. Nevertheless, she had always known she was an interloper in the family, taken in because she was the daughter of Uncle Hector’s sister, although no one had ever been cruel to her.

      It had been a pleasant life, if uneventful, Uncle Hector making a meagre living tenant-farming on the Farnham estate.

      It was because of who Quinn Taylor was that she suddenly felt as if she had been thrust into the midst of a fairy-tale.

      With that ebony-dark hair, and those deep, deep-blue eyes, he had to be every woman’s idea of a Prince Charming. And she hadn’t even realised what sensuality was until she gazed upon Quinn Taylor. It surrounded him like an invisible aura, all the more potent because he seemed unaware of it. He was a lazily charming man who had had success after success singing about what he seemed to love best; the people he cared about, and the mountainous beauty that surrounded his Canadian home.

      Canada’s John Denver, he had been called, but from the moment Lise saw him she knew he was unique!

      It was a fairy-tale that he was here in her aunt’s and uncle’s home at all. Her cousin Fergus had written a song that Quinn Taylor had been interested in recording for his next album. Fergus had been over the moon about the breakthrough, the biggest he had had since deciding to make song-writing his career, even more thrilled when the recording star asked him to sit in on the sessions at the London studio. Fergus’s telephone conversations for the next week had been full of how wonderful the other man was, what a professional he was, and despite the fact that the other man was at least ten years older than Fergus’s twenty-two the two of them seemd to have formed a friendship. Then had come the telephone call that had sent the Morrison household into an uproar.

      Quinn Taylor had been staying at a hotel for the making of his next album, but somehow the Press and fans had found out where he was staying and besieged the place. Fergus had offered him the use of the spare bedroom at the Morrison farm, and to everyone’s amazement he had accepted.

      Aunt Madge had been in her element during the preparations for the star’s arrival, having the whole house in turmoil during the two days, which was all the notice she had received from Fergus, paying little heed to her son’s request for secrecy, telling everyone and anyone that Quinn Taylor was going to be a guest in her house. People had seemed slightly sceptical, but once the word got around that he had been seen at the house…! Lise had a feeling his request for privacy was going to be short-lived.

      The two men had arrived from the recording-studio shortly before dinner, Fergus’s girlfriend Terri with them, Quinn Taylor very polite to them all, if slightly withdrawn during the meal.

      Lise hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him, knowing she was gawping like a schoolgirl, but unable to stop. Quinn Taylor was here, in her home, sitting at the dinner-table eating with her family.

      Suddenly he looked up and met her gaze, smiling gently as he saw the guilty blush in her cheeks. ‘I hope our late arrival hasn’t made you too tired for dinner,’ he smiled encouragingly.

      Lise gave a pained frown. He thought she was still a child! Oh, she knew her tiny appearance often gave people that impression, and her Alice-in-Wonderland hair, secured in a single braid down her spine tonight, didn’t detract from the impression. But she liked having her hair long, and—and she wasn’t a child, damn it!

      Her resentment deepened as she sensed Terri’s mocking glance on her. She and Terri had been at school together, Terri, at just twenty, her senior by three years, and she had never been able to understand what Fergus saw in the other girl. Apart from the obvious attractions, that was! Terri had begun modelling as soon as she left school at sixteen, and was relatively successful at it, a fact she never let anyone forget.

      Lise knew that her own body still tended to run a little towards puppy-fat, but it was starting to go, her curves much more defined than they had been six months ago. She was just a late developer, her Uncle Hector had assured her when she voiced her concern to him. She had never wanted so desperately to appear older than her seventeen years than when she met Quinn Taylor, had worn the sun-dress that emphasised the fact that she was finally getting breasts and successfully hid the fact that her thighs were still a little more chunky than she would have wished. And it had all been for nothing; he thought she was a child up past her usual bedtime!

      As if sensing that he had somehow committed a gaffe his smile deepened, and Lise stared at him in fascinated wonder.

      ‘Fergus mentioned something about showing me his music-room after dinner.’ Even his voice was sensual, deep and rich, the Canadian accent very attractive. ‘Perhaps you would like to join us?’ He quirked dark brows.

      She glanced uncertainly at her aunt and uncle, knowing she had to help clear away after the meal, that it was one of her daily chores. But oh, how she longed to go with the other three to the loft over the cow-barn that had been converted into a music-room where Fergus could go and write without disturbing anyone.

      Her uncle had converted the loft years ago, and when Fergus left to live in London three years ago he had told her she could use the room if she wanted to. It had become one of her favourite places, somewhere where she could be alone to think. And for the last two nights she had sat up there playing all her Quinn Taylor records, hardly able to believe that today he would be coming to stay with them. And now he had requested more of her company. Maybe she had misunderstood his last question; he certainly couldn’t regard her as a child if he wanted to spend more time with her!

      ‘Go ahead, love,’ her uncle was the one to encourage. ‘Your aunt and I can clear away here.’

      ‘Oh, but—–’

      ‘Let the girl have some fun, Madge,’ her uncle cut in firmly. ‘It isn’t as if she has much around here to distract her normally,’ he added drily.

      The farm was part of the thousands of acres owned