‘I’m dressed, if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, T-shirt and boxers. Your choice. Just don’t stand there all night – it’s a bit freaky.’

She laughed. Whoa, she so wanted to feel his strong arms around her. But was that all he was offering? She suddenly felt she was on a pivot, her decision in the next second or two might just change everything – with or without sex being involved.

‘Well?’ The duvet was still half-lifted.

Emma moved towards the sofa, and saw him shift a little towards the back to make room. She took a slow breath and slid herself in beside him – her back to his front. There wasn’t a lot of room, so side by side was the best they could do. His arm slipped around her lower ribs from behind, and felt so very natural there, keeping her close.

‘Okay?’ His voice was warm and mellow there at her ear.

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

And they lay there so very close. And it felt as good as she had imagined it might when she’d lain in her lonely bed many evenings before, trying to push the thoughts of him from her mind. Her breathing began to slow to match his. He held her tenderly, yet making no moves to touch her provocatively; she wasn’t quite sure if she was disappointed or not, and then she began to relax, feeling his breath against her hair.

She felt herself drifting off …

It was light. Emma felt a bit achy and at an odd angle. There was something heavy across her … oh, an arm, not her arm; a muscular, slightly hairy arm was wrapped around her.

She opened her eyes, recognised her own living room.

She was there on the sofa with Max. She had a moment of panic, had they? Surely she would have remembered something like that. They hadn’t even been drinking last night. Her nightshirt was still on and – she tried to concentrate, despite there being a distinct feeling of a ‘morning glory’ at her lower back (wow, it had been a long time since she had felt that against her; Luke had always been a morning person) – she had a sense that it was indeed still safely packed away under boxer shorts.

‘Morning,’ came a voice behind her ear, with a hint of humour.

‘Morning,’ she answered, bright as brass. ‘I think we have work to do.’ She needed to think about the shop, keep her focus on that. And she was up and out from the duvet before he had a chance to consider what he might do with that ‘morning glory’ after all.

31

By eight-thirty they’d had a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast and Max had now started on the second window seat.