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and huddled further down in her dressing gown. ‘Max, if this is going to work, you’re going to have to cut back on your time in the office, you know that, don’t you? Your time away, particularly. It’s just not conducive to family life.’

      ‘My family managed. My father worked the same sort of hours.’

      ‘And he died of a heart attack at forty-nine! That’s only eleven years away for you, Max. Your daughters will be just starting secondary school. And I’ll be a widow at forty-four. That’s not something to look forward to.’

      God. Eleven years? Was that all? No wonder his mother had found another man to share her life. She was only sixty-two now, fit and active and full of life. And her husband had died far too young; he could see that now.

      Was that in store for him? Would he go to work one day and find not his PA but the Grim Reaper waiting for him, as his father had?

      ‘I’m doing it for us,’ he said, but his words had a hollow ring to them, and she shook her head.

      ‘No. You’re doing it for you, because you can, because you’re driven by the need to succeed, but there are other ways to succeed, Max—other things you can do.’

      ‘Such as?’

      She shrugged. ‘Be a good father to your children? Enjoy your life? Take up a hobby—sport of some kind. Not running. That’s just a solitary thing you do to stop you thinking.’

      Hell. Was there anything this woman missed?

      ‘Fancy a game of chess?’ she asked out of the blue, and he stared at her and then gave a soft chuckle.

      ‘Yeah, why not? Although I’ll probably beat you.’

      ‘I doubt it. I’ve been practising. I play with John when he’s here.’

      Him again.

      ‘Does he beat you?’

      ‘Not often.’

      Well, there was a challenge. He leant back and smiled. ‘Bring it on,’ he said softly.

      Oh, dear. She recognised that look.

      Oh, well, at least it wouldn’t be boring. She got the chess pieces out, opened the coffee-table to reveal a chess board, then took a black and a white pawn, shuffled them behind her back and held her closed fists out.

      ‘Right,’ he said, and she opened her right hand and sighed at his smug grin.

      ‘OK, you start,’ she said, and handed him the white pieces.

      It was all downhill from there, really, because she was finding it really hard to concentrate.

      ‘Check.’

      She stared at the board in disbelief. What on earth had happened to her? She’d completely lost her focus.

      She moved her queen, he tutted and took her bishop, and said, ‘Check.’

      Again? She stared at the board for ages, conscious of Max’s hands dangling loosely between his knees, his shoulders hunched over, broad and square and powerful, his head so close she could see the individual hairs, soft and glossy and so enticing.

      ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’

      She looked down at the board, muttered under her breath and changed her mind, then sat back. ‘OK.’

      ‘Oh, dear.’ He moved his final piece, gave her a wicked smile and murmured, ‘I believe you’ll find that’s checkmate.’

      What? ‘Oh, rats,’ she said, slumping back against the chair. ‘I’d forgotten how good you are.’

      ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he said with a smile, and set the pieces up again.

      ‘Oh, no,’ she said, laughing and holding up her hands. ‘Not tonight. I’m tired and I’m just not focusing. We’ll have another go tomorrow.’

      By which time she’d have pulled herself together and repossessed her mind.

      ‘Right, it really is time for bed,’ she said, and met his eyes. ‘Max, why don’t you have an early night?’

      ‘What, and lie just feet away from you and think about you? I don’t think so. It’s been over a year, Jules. That’s a long time.’

      And then it occurred to her that, in that year, there might have been another woman. Several, in fact. Did she want to know?

      Yes.

      ‘Have you—have there…?’ She trailed off, unable to say the words, but he understood and let his breath out on a huff of disbelief.

      ‘You really think that of me? Julia, we’re married. I may not have been the best husband, but I meant my vows. I haven’t looked at, or touched, or thought about another woman since I met you. And, since you left me, I’ve thought about very little else. So, forgive me if I don’t want to go upstairs and lie down politely within spitting distance of you and go quietly to sleep!’

      She felt hot colour scorch her cheeks, and stood up hastily and headed for the door. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. For what it’s worth, I’ve missed you, too.’

      ‘Jules! Julia, wait!’

      She stopped, her hand on the latch, and he came up behind her and turned her gently into his arms.

      ‘I’m sorry. I’m just ratty because I need you. I’m feeling like a caged lion at the moment, and I’m lashing out at anything in range. And it just happens to be you, every time. And it’s rubbish, because all I want to do is hold you—’

      And, without another word, he folded her carefully against his chest and rested his head against hers. She could feel his heart beating, feel the tension radiating off him, but she knew it would go no further, that he wouldn’t kiss her or touch her or do anything she didn’t invite directly, because for all his faults he loved her.

      ‘Oh, Max,’ she sighed, and, sliding her arms around him, she held him close. ‘I’m sorry it’s so difficult.’

      ‘It doesn’t need to be. You could come back to me.’

      ‘We’ve been through that,’ she reminded him, and eased out of his arms. ‘I’m not coming back—not until I have concrete proof that you’re changing for good. And, so far, there’s no evidence of that at all.’

      He stared down at her sombrely, then nodded. ‘OK. So tomorrow, let’s go to London, and we’ll go to the office and I’ll make some calls and see what I can do. And I’d like to go and see my mother.’

      His mother! Of course! She’d missed her. Linda Gallagher was the closest thing she had to a mother now, and she knew the woman would be more than supportive of her in trying to get Max to cut back on his hours. After all, she’d lost her own husband far too young, and she wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to her son. And she’d adore the babies.

      ‘Have you told her yet?’

      He shook his head. ‘No. How can I? I don’t have a phone,’ he said with irony, and she sighed.

      ‘You could have used the house phone for that.’

      ‘Only I don’t have the number.’

      ‘You should know your mother’s number,’ she chided, and he shrugged.

      ‘Why? It’s in my phone—only, silly me, I don’t have my phone any more, it seems, because it’s been confiscated.’

      ‘I’d give it back to you if I felt I could trust you,’ she said frankly, and his mouth twitched.

      ‘Better keep it, then,’ he said softly, and, bending his head, he brushed his lips over hers. ‘Go to bed, Jules. I’ll see you in the morning—and we’ll go and sort everything out.’

      If only she could

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