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murmured slowly.

      She gave a shrug. ‘Didn’t you know—? I’m a kind person!’ she attempted to dismiss lightly.

      Whereas, in reality, she had no idea why she had offered him a cup of coffee. It certainly wasn’t because she wanted to spend any time in his company; she usually came off worst in any encounter the two of them had, verbal or otherwise!

      Then why had she made the offer? Perhaps because she suspected, from the things Max had said, that he had come here because he had thought it was either her, or one of her sisters, who had been attacked the previous night. And if that were the case…

      ‘The offer is only open for another ten seconds, Max,’ she told him derisively. ‘My toes are starting to freeze standing here!’ she added with a rueful glance down at her feet.

      Max looked down, too, the frown clearing from his brow. ‘You really were serious about the bare feet, weren’t you?’ he murmured incredulously as he followed her into the kitchen, closing the door—and the extreme cold—behind him.

      January glanced back from placing the kettle on the Aga. ‘I don’t tell lies, either, Max,’ she told him huskily.

      And then wished she hadn’t. Whether her suspicion as to why he had come here was correct or not, she would rather not think of any of their previous conversations. Or anything else!

      ‘If you must know, my feet are bare because I was just on my way to my bedroom for a pair of dry socks when you knocked on the door; I was coming back from the barn when I slipped and fell into a snowdrift. The snow went in my boots,’ she explained abruptly.

      Max raised dark brows. ‘Are you always this accident prone? First a ditch and now a snowdrift,’ he added mockingly.

      ‘Hmm.’ She grimaced. ‘I do seem to have bumped into more than my fair share of immovable objects just recently, don’t I?’ she dismissed self-derisively.

      Max being the prime one!

      Something that he seemed all too aware of as his mouth tightened. ‘January—’

      ‘Sit down, Max,’ she invited with a general wave in the direction of the kitchen table and chairs. ‘Coffee is almost ready.’ She turned back to the task in hand, deliberately keeping herself busy for the next few minutes, although she was very aware of Max as he sat at the table watching her every move.

      Why had he come here today? Was it really, as she suspected, because he had been concerned that one of the sisters might have been the Night Striker’s latest victim? But if that were the reason, wouldn’t that have to mean that he actually cared—?

      ‘Did May tell you that she came to see me on Sunday evening?’

      ‘Yes, she told me,’ January confirmed lightly, picking up the two mugs of coffee before strolling over to place one of them in front of Max and sitting down opposite him. ‘Help yourself to sugar.’ She indicated the bowl that stood in the middle of the table. ‘Since our mother died, May has been the family champion, I’m afraid.’ The lightness of her tone totally belied the fact that she had been furious with May when she’d returned on Sunday evening and admitted where she had been.

      Max gave a humourless smile. ‘She certai nly did a good job of warning me off you!’

      ‘A little too late, obviously.’ She nodded, staring down at her steaming mug of coffee.

      May had been protecting March and January for as long as the two of them could remember, the two younger sisters, as they’d got older, often finding this fierce protectiveness irksome to say the least. January had been so furious at May’s uninvited intervention on her behalf on Sunday evening that the two sisters had only just started speaking to each other again.

      Although, to give Max his due, he obviously hadn’t told her sister what had happened between the two of them a couple of hours before May’s arrival at the hotel.

      ‘When did your mother die?’ Max prompted huskily.

      January looked up. ‘I was three, so…twenty-two years ago now,’ she acknowledged with a pained frown.

      Max frowned darkly. ‘That must have been—’ He shook his head. ‘I was five when my mother left,’ he said abruptly.

      And as instantly regretted the admission, January could see by the surprise in his eyes he wasn’t quick enough to hide, his expression becoming guarded. Making January wonder if he had ever confided that to anyone before today. Max certainly didn’t come across as a man who was comfortable confiding his personal life to other people.

      ‘Shouldn’t you go and put something on your feet?’ he prompted with unwarranted harshness.

      ‘Yes, I should,’ January acknowledged lightly, standing up. ‘I won’t be long,’ she told him as she left the room.

      But long enough to give him chance to put his defences back in order; the last thing she needed was to feel any sort of empathy with Max Golding—worse, to actually feel sorry for him!

      He wouldn’t welcome the emotion anyway. Any more than he would welcome having her in love with him.

      Which, she now realised, despite all those hateful things he had said to her on Sunday evening, she most certainly was.

      May, it seemed, had given her warning of caution to the wrong person!

      What was he doing here? Max questioned himself impatiently as January left the kitchen. He had known as soon as January had opened the door to his knock that she wasn’t the woman who had been attacked last night, so why hadn’t he just made his excuses and left?

      Because he couldn’t! Because he had had one hell of a scare this morning when he’d heard that television announcement about the attacker’s latest victim being in hospital! Because just seeing January standing on the doorstep, so obviously alive and well, meant he hadn’t been able to drag himself away fro m just looking at her!

      Although why on earth he had compounded that by telling her about his mother, he had no idea!

      He never talked about his mother’s desertion. Never told anyone of the effect it had had on him. It simply wasn’t good enough to claim he had merely been returning January’s confidence about her own mother. Her mother had died, for goodness’ sake, not walked out on her!

      He had to get away from here. Had to go. Now!

      But before he could even stand up to leave the outside door opened and May walked in, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw him sitting comfortably ensconced at the kitchen table. Although she recovered well, he thought, that obvious look of surprise turning into a polite smile of enquiry.

      ‘January is upstairs putting on dry socks,’ he told her dryly.

      Dark brows rose over mocking green eyes. ‘What did she do with the last pair?’ May drawled, taking off her jacket to hang it on the back of the kitchen door.

      ‘Fell in a snowdrift,’ Max supplied wryly.

      ‘Ah,’ May nodded, obviously not in the least surprised by the explanation. ‘Can I get you another cup of coffee, or are you okay?’ she offered as she boiled up some water for her own hot drink.

      ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Max dismissed. ‘How did your check-up go?’

      May turned to him with a puzzled frown. ‘Sorry?’

      ‘January said you were at the dentist,’ he explained.

      ‘Ah.’ May nodded. ‘It was fine,’ she added dismissively, busying herself making her cup of coffee.

      Max’s gaze narrowed shrewdly as he continued to watch her. He hadn’t missed May’s complete puzzlement at his mention of a check-up, or the fact that her gaze hadn’t quite met his when she’d answered him; if May Calendar had been to the dentist then his name wasn’t Maxim Patrick Golding!

      Which begged the question, where had May

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