LITMIR.BIZ

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turned and frowned at him. ‘I wouldn’t dream of charging you!’ she said, insulted, but he just arched a brow.

      ‘Do you charge Nick?’

      ‘Well—yes, but it’s business.’

      ‘Yes. And so’s this. Put it like this, if you won’t let me pay you, I’ll get someone else in—one of the garden centre chains. Most of them have a design department. And you’ll have to look at it over the fence and it will annoy the hell out of you.’

      ‘But I’ll need someone to look after the children.’

      ‘I’ll do that.’

      ‘Only if you let me pay you.’ Hah. She had him.

      Or not. ‘But I still owe you babysitting time,’ he pointed out archly, ‘and, come to think of it, a massage.’

      ‘You gave me that the other night.’

      ‘Not a proper one. I only did your shoulders.’

      And that had been bad enough. The thought of taking her clothes off and lying down on a towel while he massaged her whole body with those incredible hands was enough to make her hyperventilate. She turned back to the garden.

      ‘Fair cop,’ she said, her voice a little uneven. ‘OK. Instead of the massage, you can look after the kids and I’ll do you a design. If you like it, you can pay me. If you don’t, then there’s no charge.’

      ‘Is that how you normally work?’

      ‘Yes,’ she lied.

      He grunted, and she guessed he didn’t believe her, but it was tough. She wasn’t taking money off him if he didn’t agree with her design, and she wouldn’t take much off him anyway. And she’d oversee it for nothing and pretend it was part of the service. Maybe even do some of the work. And maybe he could do some, too. They could do it together, working side by side while the children played in the soil and ran around getting grubby.

      Just like a family.

      The sudden ache in her chest took her by surprise, and she sucked in her breath and turned back to him with an overbright smile. ‘Deal?’

      ‘Deal,’ he said, but before he could say any more or lay down any conditions of his own, her mobile phone rang.

      ‘Hey, Georgie!’ she said with relief. ‘How are you?’

      ‘Fine—fancy the beach? We’re going down with the kids and taking a picnic. Want me to do enough for you, too?’

      ‘You don’t want to do that! I can make something for me and the kids.’

      ‘Aren’t you forgetting Harry?’ Georgie said, and she shot him a look, wondering if he’d heard. Probably.

      ‘Fancy going to the beach with the kids?’ she asked him, hoping he’d say no, but he grinned and nodded.

      ‘Love to. I haven’t been to an English beach for years. Bucket–and-spade time, eh, Freddie?’

      Freddie was jiggling on her hip and squealing, Beth was bouncing on the spot and nearly tugging her arm out of its socket, and Harry looked almost as enthusiastic.

      ‘I think that’s a yes,’ she said to Georgie, giving up the unequal struggle, because, in fact, she couldn’t think of anything she’d like more than going to the beach with Harry and the children.

      And if it was just another example of them playing happy families, well, maybe he’d find it was so much fun he wanted to do it again and again and again…

      ‘Freddie, no!’

      He was being crushed to death! He was lying flat on his back, buried up to his neck in sand, and Freddie was bouncing on his chest and laughing. Beside him Nick was similarly buried, with Dickon sitting on him and giggling helplessly, and he turned his head and caught Nick’s eye.

      ‘Enough?’ Nick mouthed, and he nodded.

      ‘OK. One, two, three!’ Nick yelled, and they both erupted out of the sand, grabbing the giggling children and dumping them in the dents they’d made.

      ‘Look! I can still see you!’ Beth said, pointing at his impression in the sand, Freddie sitting in the middle of it—giggling hysterically.

      ‘’Gain!’ he yelled.

      ‘You’ve got to catch me first,’ Harry said, and headed for the sea, Nick at his side and the children in hot pursuit. As his feet hit the water he stopped dead and gasped. ‘Hell, it’s freezing!’

      ‘Not quite Sharm-el-Sheikh, I’m afraid!’ Nick replied with a grin. ‘We can always go back to the house for a proper swim if you want.’

      ‘You’ve got a pool?’

      He nodded. ‘And a hot tub. I love my hot tub. I’ve got one in London at the apartment, and I couldn’t bear the thought of not having it, so we built one here.’

      They strolled along the fringe of surf, the children giggling and chasing each other round and round in the shallow water and splashing each other, while Georgie sat under a big hat and fanned herself and Em sat with her, the baby at her side under a little parasol she’d found in the loft.

      They could have been just two normal families, he thought, but of the four of them only Em was really a parent, although of course time would soon change that for Nick and Georgie, with the birth of their own baby in just a very few weeks.

      He glanced up the beach at Em. How would he feel if she was pregnant with his child?

      Terrifed, if he had any sense.

      But apparently not, because the thought didn’t seem terrifying at all, it seemed ridiculously appealing—although that was probably because it was never going to happen. One, because he didn’t just go round getting women pregnant and, two, because there was no way he was getting that close to Emily.

      And if that left him feeling just a little hollow inside, it was tough. Coming back had caused enough havoc. And he needed to be able to leave again, needed to be free—and he knew, just knew, that if he and Em ended up having an affair, free was the last thing he’d be.

      ‘Stay for the evening. We were going to have a barbeque and a real swim, and the children could lie down in front of a film with Nick’s mother while we sit outside in the hot tub and chill. What do you say?’

      Emily hesitated for a moment, then thought of all the good reasons why not. Starting with the fact that Kizzy was out of milk.

      ‘That isn’t really fair on Liz, dumping three extras on her, and anyway, we can’t—we didn’t bring enough bottles for the baby,’ she said truthfully.

      ‘Well—Harry, why don’t you go and pick some up from home and come back? We’ll look after Kizzy for you, won’t we, Em?’

      She met his eyes in desperation, hoping he’d catch on, and he did, bless him, but not in the way she’d thought. Instead he grinned and said, ‘Sounds like a plan. Except I’ve had a beer, so I can’t drive. Still, you could go, Em. I’m sure there are things you want to do at home—you said something about putting the washing on before you came out, and I don’t think you remembered.’

      ‘No—no, I didn’t,’ she said, grabbing the lifeline. ‘Um—so, I’ll go, then, and stick a load in and get everything. Back soon. Kids, be good for Harry, won’t you?’

      And with a quick kiss for them both, she shot out of the door before Georgie could scupper her by offering to keep her company. The last thing she needed while she plugged herself into Buttercup was an audience!

      But she escaped without intervention, and half an hour later she was on her way back, the bottles full and the washing on—just to make it less of a lie, because she hated that. She ought to just tell Georgie and have done with it, but she was afraid her friend would find

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