‘Why?’ Maybe he was protecting her; she liked the idea of that.

‘Because it would hurt him. And I don’t want that,’ said Terry.

Nula felt deflated. Hurt. So he’d been thinking of protecting Charlie; not her. She took another step closer. They were alone under cover in the garage; no one was about around here today.

‘Neither of us want that,’ said Nula, watching him. She moved closer still. She was standing right beside him now. She could feel the heat coming off his body. She could smell the scent of his aftershave and the oil on his hands. The thought of those hands on her . . . !

Without even thinking of what she was doing, Nula reached up and kissed him. She couldn’t help it. Her tongue licked his lips and nudged them open. Her hand went first to his muscular chest and then slipped down, down, until she found the length of his cock under the worn denim of his jeans. Her fingers groped lower, cupping his balls. Nula moaned, feeling heat rush through her, knowing – oh shit – that this for her was serious. That she actually loved him, that she always had. It wasn’t just the pull of sex. Terry was the better of the two men. Unlike Charlie, he did have some finer feelings.

But as quickly as she had kissed him, touched him, Terry stepped back, shoving her away.

‘What the fuck?’ he burst out, wiping his mouth.

‘Sorry, sorry, I . . .’ Nula was holding her hands up, trying to apologize. In the heat of the moment, she’d done what she’d always wanted to do.

Terry looked disgusted. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

Nula dragged her hands through her hair. She was blushing with shame. He’d knocked her back last time, but this time was worse.

‘You won’t tell him?’ she asked urgently. ‘I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t mean to do that.’

Terry’s face was red with rage. ‘Piss off, Nula,’ he spat out. ‘Just piss off out of it before I do something I bloody well shouldn’t, all right?’

Nula didn’t argue. Trembling with embarrassment and hurt, she left the garage and went back up to the house.

30

‘What’s up with you, honey?’ Jill asked Terry while they sat in the kitchen over breakfast. He’d been quiet the last few days, not himself. He’d changed somehow. That worried her, set her on edge. Their lovely little daughter, five-year-old Belle, was zooming up and down the hallway in the toy pedal car she had nearly outgrown now, blonde hair flying, making honking noises, giving them grinning flashes as she zipped past the open door.