off as she went into her own bedroom and closed the door, then a few minutes later she heard him come out of the bathroom and go down the landing to his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
She didn’t sleep for hours, and, when she woke, it was to hear the back door open and Max calling the dog. The sky was just light, the day barely started, and, as she lifted herself up on one elbow, she saw Max heading down the drive with Murphy trotting beside him. He was wearing jogging bottoms and trainers with a T-shirt, and she watched him turn out onto the hill, cross the river and run away up through the village out of sight, the dog at his heels.
She didn’t know what was wrong, but she had a feeling it wasn’t the obvious. There just seemed to be something else going on, something she didn’t know about, and she didn’t know if she could ask.
Probably not. He’d been pretty unapproachable last night. Maybe he’d tell her in his own good time, but one thing was absolutely certain.
Max was right out of his comfort zone, and living with him for the next two weeks was going to be interesting, to say the least.
Not to mention frustrating and heartbreaking and undoubtedly painful.
She just hoped it would prove to be worth it…
He ran along the lane out of the village, turned left along another tiny, winding lane, cut down across a field and over the river on a flat iron bridge—used by tractors, he supposed—and then up to a bridlepath that cut through to the village again just opposite the drive to Rose Cottage.
It had taken twenty minutes, so he supposed it was about three miles. Not far enough to numb him, but enough to take the edge off it and distract him from the endless turmoil in his mind.
The light was on in the kitchen as he jogged across the drive, and Jules was watching him, her face unreadable at that distance through the old leaded lights. But she had her arms full of washing or something, and she was in that fluffy dressing-gown again, presumably with the little cats underneath.
He suppressed a groan and walked the last few steps to the back door and let himself in, a wet and muddy Murphy by his side.
‘Bed!’ she ordered, and the dog turned and went into his bed in the space under the stairs.
‘Is that just him, or do I have to go in there, too?’ Max asked, and she smiled a little uncertainly and searched his face with troubled eyes.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine. We’ve had a good run—’
She stopped him with her hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes with that way of hers that made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. ‘Are you really all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, a little more sincerely, because he was, really. It was just that DVD which had stirred things up, made him sad and emotional all over again, and he hated it. Hated being out of control of his feelings—hated his feelings, full stop.
‘I’ve made tea,’ she said, and he opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t want any damn tea, then shut it, smiled and nodded.
‘Thanks. Are the babies awake yet?’
She shook her head. ‘No. They will be soon. Why?’
‘Oh, just wondered. I need a shower, but I don’t want to disturb them. I’ll have my tea and wait a bit, if you can stand me all sweaty and mud-splattered.’
She ran her eyes over him and gave a tiny huff of laughter, but, as she turned away, he noticed a soft brush of colour in her cheeks. Really? He could still do that to her?
‘I’m sure I can stand you for long enough to drink your tea,’ she said lightly, but her voice was a little strange, not quite itself, and she was folding and smoothing nappies on top of the Aga as if her life depended on it.
He thought of their kiss, just the lightest touch of his lips to hers, and heat seared through him. Because he wanted to do it again, wanted to haul her up against him and tunnel his fingers through that tousled, rumpled hair, and plunder her mouth with his until she was whimpering with need and clawing at him for more…
‘On second thoughts, maybe I’ll go and have a look through my clothes and find something to wear after my shower,’ he said, and retreated to the door before he embarrassed himself.
‘What’s wrong with yesterday’s new clothes?’ she asked, and he hesitated in the doorway, one foot on the bottom of the stairs just outside in the hall, and looked at her over his shoulder.
‘Nothing. I just wasn’t sure if I they’d be right for what we’re doing today.’
‘So what are we doing?’ she asked, looking puzzled.
Good question. ‘Taking the girls to the seaside,’ he told her, thinking on his feet. ‘It’s a gorgeous day, and the forecast is mild and sunny all day.’
‘In which case your jeans and jumper will be perfect. Come back and sit down and drink your tea. If you start banging about in the room next to them, they will wake up, at this time of day, and frankly the peace is short-lived enough.’
He swallowed, crushed the lust that was threatening to give him away. But he needn’t have worried because she scooped up the washing and carried it out to the utility room, and he took his tea over to the sofa in the bay window and sat down with one foot hitched up on the other knee, and by the time she came back in he had himself back under control.
Just.
He was right, it was a gorgeous day.
They took the babies to Felixstowe, parked the car at one end of the prom and walked all the way along to the other end. The wind was from the north-west, so they were totally sheltered by the low cliffs at the north end. But, when they turned back into the wind, it was a little cooler so Max turned the buggy round and towed it, while she walked beside him and enjoyed the freedom of being able to swing her arms as she walked.
‘Do you know,’ she pointed out, ‘that, apart from corporate trips when we’ve been abroad, this is the first time in six years that we’ve been to the beach?’
He glanced sideways at her and pulled a face. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s not something I’ve ever thought of doing—not in England, anyway. And I’ve never been a beach-holiday person.’
‘I’m not talking about beach holidays,’ she said. ‘I’m talking about walking by the sea, with a good, stiff breeze tugging my hair and the taste of salt on my skin. It’s gorgeous—bracing and healthy and—oh, wonderful!’
And then she looked at him, and saw him watching her with something very familiar and deeply disturbing in his eyes, and she coloured and turned away quickly. ‘Oh look—there’s a ship coming in,’ she said, which was ridiculous because there had been lots, but she caught his smile out of the corner of her eye and the breath stuck in her throat.
He had no right doing that to her—bringing back so many memories with just one slow, lazy smile. They might not have walked on the beach, but they’d made love many, many times on their roof terrace overlooking the Thames, with the smell of the river drifting up to them and the salty tang in the air. And she could tell, just from that one glance, that he was remembering it as well.
‘I’ll just make sure the babies are all right,’ she said hastily, and, going round to the other side of the buggy, she tucked them up and then followed behind, staring at his shoulders as he towed the babies and strolled along with the air of a man who did it every day of the week.
Just like a real father, with a wife and two beautiful children, not a pressed man who’d been forced to submit to some bonding time with his newly discovered infants.
Oh, what a mess.
Would they ever get out of it?
‘Jules?’
She realised she’d stopped, and he’d stopped, too, and had turned to look