Her eyes remained closed and she enjoyed the slow, languorous caress of his hand, as if he was smoothing the knotty problems out of her head. ‘Putting up with things,’ she amended. Then, irritated by how passive that sounded, she added, ‘No, I was looking forward, rather than back. I was getting over a rocky period and feeling optimistic.’ Her throat tightened and so did her voice. ‘I was enjoying being with you and pretending your brother doesn’t exist.’ To prevent herself from dissolving into disappointed tears, she took several gulps of her hot chocolate.

His cradling arm tightened around her. ‘But he does exist,’ he murmured gently. ‘I’ve talked to him about us.’ His hand moved on to kneading her neck. ‘I explained that we’re trying not to let the past affect us.’

Laurel’s stomach cramped. ‘So what’s going to happen to us? If we keep seeing each other, I mean?’ She could hear unhappiness in her own voice, the dull, flat, echo of despondency.

Grady was silent. Though he continued to hold her close, he reached for his hot chocolate again and drank it. When he’d finished, he put down the empty mug and slid his other arm around her too, so she felt surrounded by him, moulded to the shape of his body. ‘Mac’s always going to be around.’

‘I know,’ she replied ruefully. ‘He’s your brother and you love him. It’s me who has the problem. I’m making difficulties between you and now I might be making difficulties in his marriage.’

‘All unwittingly,’ he reminded her. ‘You don’t think you’ll ever forgive him?’ he asked tentatively.

‘I wish people wouldn’t ask that.’ She knew she sounded fretful but she also felt a rat because she knew forgiving Mac would make things easier for Grady. ‘It’s not a choice. I could say I forgive him but that would never change what I feel inside.’

‘I get that,’ he whispered, laying his cheek against her hair.

She became aware of the way their bodies touched, and his firm thighs beneath his jeans gave her thoughts a new direction. Should she really let bloody Mac Cassidy sour things between her and Grady? Things that could make her feel as giddy as a lovestruck teenager? She gave an experimental wriggle. ‘Are you inviting me to your bed tonight?’ She tipped her head back to kiss his jaw.

‘You bet,’ he said, with a hint of surprise but a host of alacrity.

They made love that night gently and tenderly, as if Grady felt Laurel needed comforting. It was comforting, and blissful and exciting. But the spectre of Mac coming between them made it hard for Laurel to slide into sleep afterwards, even warm and sated, nestled into Grady’s arms.

She must have slumbered eventually, though, because suddenly she was struggling against arms that pinioned her. Gasping, thrashing, sweating, she pleaded, ‘No, no! Stop!’