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lunch, they spent the afternoon playing board games. ‘I haven’t done this for a while, either,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it is.’

      ‘Remember what you said to me,’ he said. ‘Make the time for stuff you enjoy.’

      * * *

      Josh sketched Hope again in the back of the notebook after her next feed, and couldn’t resist making a sneaky sketch of Amy. Though in a way that was a bad idea, because it made him really aware of the curve of her mouth and the way her hair fell—and it made him want to touch her.

      He still couldn’t shake how it had felt this morning to draw her into his arms and hold her close. OK, so they’d both been dog-tired and in need of comfort after their worry about Hope and a very broken night—but it had felt so right to hold her like that and fall asleep with her on the sofa.

      For Hope’s sake, he needed to rein himself back a bit.

      ‘While Madam’s asleep,’ Amy said, thankfully oblivious to what he’d been thinking, ‘maybe I can teach you how to cook something really simple and really impressive.’

      ‘Which is?’ he asked.

      ‘Baked salmon with sweet chilli sauce, served with mangetout and crushed new potatoes.’

      It sounded complicated. But clearly Amy was good at her day job, because she gave him really clear instructions and talked him through making dinner.

      ‘I can’t believe I made this,’ he said, looking at the plates. After the first mouthful, he amended that to, ‘I really can’t believe I made this.’

      ‘Healthy and impressive,’ she said. ‘And it’s easy. Josh, what you do at work every day is way harder than cooking dinner.’

      ‘Maybe.’ But cooking for one was no fun. Which was the main reason why he lived on toasted sandwiches and takeaways.

      They spent the evening curled up on the sofa, watching films. Josh was careful this time not to give in to the temptation of holding Amy’s hand or drawing her into his arms.

      But, after Hope’s last feed of the evening, he could see the worry on Amy’s face.

      ‘Maybe we should both sleep on the sofa again tonight,’ he said. ‘We can still take turns at getting up for her, but it also means if you’re worried you can wake me more quickly.’

      She took a deep breath. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said, ‘but I was thinking along the same lines. My bed’s a double and it’ll be a lot more comfortable than the sofa. We’re adults and we can share a bed without...’

      His mouth went dry as he finished the sentence mentally. Without making love.

      Which was what he really wanted to do with Amy. Kiss her, discover where she liked being touched and what made her eyes go dark with pleasure.

      ‘Fully dressed,’ he said. Because lying in bed with her, with them both wearing pyjamas, might be a little too much temptation for him to resist. And he hoped she couldn’t hear the slight huskiness in his voice.

      ‘Of course.’

      Her bedroom was exactly as he’d expected, all soft creams and feminine, yet without being frilly or fussy and over the top. There was a framed picture of a seascape on the wall, the curtains were floral chintz, and the whole room was restful and peaceful.

      Though when he lay next to her in bed with the light off—with both of them fully dressed—he was far from feeling restful and peaceful. He was too aware of the last time he’d shared a bed with someone, just over a year ago. OK, so he’d finally got to the stage where he could move on with his life... But could it be with Amy? He definitely had feelings for her, and he was fairly sure that it was mutual; but was it because they’d had this intense sharing of space over the last few days, while they’d been looking after Hope, or was it something real? Would he be enough for her, the way he hadn’t been for Kelly? Or would everything between them change again at New Year, once the baby had gone?

      * * *

      When Hope cried, Amy got out of bed on autopilot and scooped the baby from the Moses basket. As she padded into the kitchen with the baby in her arms, she woke up fully. Was it her imagination, or did Hope feel hot again?

      And then Hope only took half her usual amount of milk.

      Panic welled through her, and she switched on her bedside light on its lowest setting. ‘Josh.’

      He woke immediately and sat up. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘I might be being paranoid, but she didn’t take that much milk just now, and I think she’s hot again.’

      He checked the baby over, then grabbed the thermometer and took her temperature. ‘Her temperature’s normal.’

      ‘So I’m just being ridiculous.’

      He settled the baby back into the Moses basket. ‘No. You’re being completely normal. I’d worry, too.’ He wrapped his arms round her. ‘You’re doing just fine, Amy.’

      For someone who was never going to be a mum?

      She wasn’t sure what made her lean into him—the worry that had made her knees sag, or just the fact that he was there, holding her and seeming to infuse his strength into her as he kept his arms round her.

      And was that his mouth against her cheek, in a reassuring kiss?

      Something made her tip her head back.

      The next thing she knew, his mouth was against hers. Soft, reassuring, gentle.

      And then it wasn’t like that any more, because somehow her mouth had opened beneath his and her arms were wrapped round his neck, and he was holding her much more tightly. And the warmth turned to heat, to sheer molten desire.

      Then he pulled back.

      Oh, God. How embarrassing was she? Throwing herself at her neighbour. Pathetic.

      ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, hanging her head and unable to meet his eyes. Hot shame bubbled through her. What the hell had she just done?

      ‘I should be the one apologising to you.’

      Because he’d been kind? Because he’d stopped before she’d really made a fool of herself?

      ‘No,’ she muttered, still not wanting to look at him and see the pity in his face.

      ‘Maybe I should sleep on your sofa again,’ he said.

      And then things would be even more awkward between them in the morning. ‘No, it’s fine. We’re neighbours—friends—and we’re adults; and we both need to be here for Hope.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We can both pretend that just now didn’t happen.’

      ‘Good idea,’ he said.

      But she still couldn’t face him when she climbed into bed and switched off the light. And she noticed that there was a very large gap in the bed between them, as if he felt as uncomfortable and embarrassed about the situation as she did.

      If only she’d kept that iron control she’d prided herself on so much before today. If only she hadn’t kissed him. If only she hadn’t given in to temptation.

      She’d just have to hope that the broken night would affect his memory and he’d forget everything about what had just happened.

      And she’d really have to put out of her mind how good it had felt in those moments when he’d kissed her back.

       CHAPTER SIX

      Bank Holiday Monday

      AMY WAS WARM and deeply, deeply comfortable.

      And then she realised why.

      Somehow, during

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