the release she’d sought just seconds ago now rushing at her much too quickly.
His voice came from above her. ‘I think it is.’
His fingertips found her nipples once again and squeezed, the dual assault wracking her body with a pleasure so sharp it made her arch up seeking him. ‘Max.’
He gave her what she wanted then, thrusting forward and finding her immediately. The movement was so sudden it made her gasp, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he set up a quick rhythm that didn’t give her any room to catch her breath. Instead it tossed her high into the air and held her there for several seconds, and then she was over the edge, her body spasming around his. Max groaned, his mouth finding hers as he plunged again and again before finally slowing, the sound of his heavy breathing wonderfully loud in her ears.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight as the emotions she’d been holding back finally bubbled over, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Annabelle came to a stunning realisation.
She loved her husband.
She didn’t just love him. She was in love with him. She’d never stopped being in love with him. She’d submerged the truth—buried it far out of sight—and tried to lose herself in caring for sick children instead. Only it hadn’t worked. Not entirely.
Because here it was. In plain sight.
Annabelle loved him. Deeply. Entirely. And she had no idea what she was going to do about it.
IT HADN’T FELT like goodbye sex.
The deep sleep that had finally pulled Max under in the early hours of the morning released him just as quickly.
He blinked a couple of times, trying to bring to mind exactly what had happened last night, but it all blurred together to form a scene of decadence and exhausting satisfaction.
Annabelle.
He turned his head to look at her side of the bed only to find it empty—the nightstand bare of anything except a clock. No note. He frowned before remembering that they’d come to London together, so it wasn’t likely that she’d slipped out and caught a train back to Cheltenham. So she was still here. Somewhere.
She was here.
He relaxed and rolled onto his back, settling into the pillows with his hands behind his head. It was just seven in the morning. They might even have time for another session before they had to be on their way.
And do what afterwards?
He wasn’t sure. But maybe they could start again. In the crush of timetables and thermometers and ovulation charts, Max had forgotten just how good sex—real sex, not something with a goal in mind—had been between them. Last night had brought it all rushing back. Their first year had been out of this world. They’d been so in tune with each other’s needs that it had seemed nothing would be able to come between them.
Until it had.
Maybe they could get back to the ‘before’ part of the equation.
Was he actually thinking of getting back together with her? Could they erase what had torn them apart and start over? If so, they could just put off signing any papers for a while and wander down this lane for a few miles and see what happened.
Unless Annabelle didn’t want to do that.
Didn’t someone say that couples who were getting divorced would sometimes fall into each other’s arms one last time as a way of saying goodbye or having closure? What they’d done hadn’t seemed like that. At least not to him.
Vaguely he was aware of the sound of running water. Ah, that answered the question as to where she was. She was taking a shower.
Naked.
She probably had soap streaming down her body.
Naked.
When the word popped up a second time, he smiled. Hadn’t he just thought about how it was still early?
Well, they could kill two birds with one stone. He could soap her back, while doing a few other things.
Throwing the blankets off, he realised the flat was chilly. The heat must be turned down, since Suzanne hadn’t expected anyone to be living here.
He’d have to call her this morning and let her know he’d spent the night so she didn’t come into the flat, realise someone had been in there and assume there’d been an intruder. And he’d promised he would call the hospital first thing to see how Baby Hope was doing. This was a good time to do that.
Bringing up the number on his smartphone, he rang the main desk of the hospital.
‘This is Mr Ainsley. Is Miss McDonald in yet?’
‘Let me check.’
The voice clicked off and became elevator music as he was put on hold. The shower was still running. Even if she came out before he was done with his call, he would just coax her back under the spray.
The music stopped and Sienna’s voice came over the line. ‘Hi, Max. Everything okay?’
It was more than okay, but that wasn’t something he was going to tell anyone. Not yet.
‘Fine. I’m just checking on our patient.’
He could practically hear a smile form on the other doctor’s lips. ‘We have several patients. Which one are you referring to?’
This time the smile was on his end. ‘A certain young transplant patient.’
‘She’s fine. No more episodes of a-fib.’ There was a pause. ‘I do seem to remember telling you I would call you if there was any change.’
‘You did. But I wanted to be able to tell...’ This time it was Max who stopped short. He wasn’t really ready for anyone to know that he and Annabelle had spent the night together. ‘I just wanted to see if I needed to rush back this morning or not.’
‘No need to rush at all. She’s doing brilliantly.’
‘Good. Thank you for taking over her case during my absence.’
‘Not a problem at all. Are you coming back today?’
‘Yes.’ Which brought back to mind what he’d set out to do when he got out of bed. ‘I’ll be in around four o’clock this afternoon. Call me if you need me.’
‘I will. Have a safe trip.’
‘Thank you.’
Max rang off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. And now back to his previous thoughts of Annabelle and that shower.
Before he headed for the bathroom, though, he made a quick detour down the hallway and turned the heating up to a tolerable level—the amazing thing was they hadn’t noticed the cold last night when they’d been making love. Then he padded back to the bathroom, stopping just outside the door.
The shower was definitely running.
He hadn’t put on any clothes before falling asleep so that saved him a step. His mouth watered. He could certainly use a shower. Now more than ever.
Trying the doorknob and finding it unlocked, he eased into the room. Steam enveloped the space. She’d been in here a while. But then again, he remembered Annabelle had loved long, luxurious baths and showers. Her skin would be soft and moist...
Gulping, he removed his watch and placed it on the counter and then turned towards the shower enclosure. He could just barely make out Annabelle’s form through the frosted glass. His body hardened all over again. How did she do that to him?
It was almost as if they’d been given a clean slate. Something he’d needed—they’d both needed.
With