Chapter 16
Molly
Oh, shit.
He’s standing with a few of the guys I recognise from Angus’ team—Danny and Tim and another guy whose name I don’t know. They’re watching the choir, plastic pint pots in hand.
More accurately, most of them are watching the choir.
Max is staring straight at Paul and me. Staring or glaring; I’m not sure which. I give him a little wave, to be polite, although I’m furious he’s here. Can’t he just bugger off and leave me alone to enjoy my first date in forever?
He doesn’t wave back, just holds his pint of lager up and nods curtly.
His jaw is tense, his mouth set in a grim line, and the sight of Max looking fifty shades of unimpressed does things to my lady parts that I’m thoroughly ashamed of.
He’s looking at us like he wants to punch Paul in the face before throwing me over his shoulder.
Or possibly his knee.
Paul’s hand shifts on my shoulder. ‘Isn’t that your friend?’
I clear my throat. ‘It is, yeah.’
‘He looks seriously pissed off. Should I be worried?’
‘No.’ I laugh nervously. ‘I’m sure he’s fine—probably just having a sense of humour failure.’
‘He seemed pretty protective of you earlier, when I picked you up.’ Paul turns his head and murmurs the words into my ear. ‘Is there a story there, by any chance?’
I keep my sights fixed squarely on Max, raising my eyebrows at him in a silent challenge as I answer Paul. ‘Full disclosure? He’s my ex.’
‘Ah.’ I don’t miss the sound of Paul sucking in a breath. ‘A recent one?’
‘God, no. We dated for a few years when I was in my early twenties. We broke up, like, twelve years ago. It’s all ancient history.’
‘And yet he’s staying with you.’ There’s no judgement in his tone, merely the hint of a question.
‘Just for a few weeks to help with the kids. I’m working on trying to find an au pair, because my old one left at short notice.’
It’s not strictly true. I haven’t begun the search for a new au pair, but that’s only because I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had time to bless myself, as my Grandma used to say. I’m well aware Max will be on his way again in a few weeks, and I’ll need to find a more permanent solution.
‘Got it.’ He pauses. ‘Though, from the look on his face right now, I’d guess there’s some unfinished business.’
‘No. Definitely not.’ I shake my head a little too vigorously, wondering why the memory of Max telling me he was hard is whooshing around and around in my brain like that annoying song you can’t forget, leaving space for little else.
Fuck, I’ve missed your hair.
Missed being able to touch you.
Having my hands on you is doing weird shit to my brain.
And my dick.
Oh, sweet mother of God. I glance over at him, at that unflinching, intense, purposeful look on his face, and I shiver.
Because that’s not the look of someone whose business with me is finished.
Max gets home no more than five minutes after I do.
Funny, that.
Clearly he figured that, with his cockblocking duties done, he was free to leave.
Or to continue them back here.
But he needn’t have bothered, because Paul dropped me home and took his leave like a true gentleman. He walked me to the door, and my breath hitched a little with nerves, because I definitely wasn’t sure I was ready to, you know. Get tongues involved.
I assume my don’t stick your tongue in my mouth vibes were pretty strong, because he put his palm against the closed front door, and leaned against it in quite a sexy way, and smiled at me before slowly, deliberately, lowering his head to mine and pressing a chaste kiss to that spot just between my cheek and my mouth.
‘I had a fantastic time with you this evening,’ he said before I could say anything.
‘I did too. Honestly, it was so much fun. I’m glad you dragged me out of the house,’ I told him.
His dimples flashed. ‘I’d love to take you out again. Maybe dinner. And I’ll text you in the morning to reiterate that, in case you think it’s my single bottle of beer talking.’
I laughed. He really was so sweet.
‘But’—his blue eyes narrowed a little—‘the ball’s in your court, because I suspect the jury’s still out.’
‘Oh no,’ I protested too quickly. ‘Not at all.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Honestly. We can take things at your pace. If you decide you’d like to go out again, just let me know. I’ll be waiting.’
And with that, he gave me a reassuring pat on the arm and left.
Now Max corners me in the kitchen, just as I’m attempting to find a cab to take Mike and Mia home. They’re still watching TV next door.
‘They need a lift home?’ He jerks his thumb towards the TV room. ‘I can drop them.’
‘That would be great, thanks. But we need to talk.’
‘What about?’
‘About the daggers you were shooting Paul—and me—at the market. It was really childish and completely unnecessary, and I don’t appreciate it.’
‘Oh yeah?’
He comes towards me, slowly, deliberately, and I shrink back against the warmth of the AGA. He stops slightly too close to me, forcing me to look up at him. He still has his jacket on, and his stubble is calling out to me to lift a hand and scratch it.
Damn this man. And damn my own heart, too.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why wasn’t I all over Paul like a rash?
The guy’s ridiculously eligible, for God’s sake, and his behaviour towards me all evening was pitch-perfect.
Oh, and he has two kids, which suggests he doesn’t have the horror of children that some people have.
I should have been climbing him like a tree.
But while he was absolutely lovely, and while I could appreciate how delightfully easy he was on the eyes, he didn’t have my heart rate ratcheting up like Max does when he closes in on me. When his eyes feast on me like a starving man.
He picks up one of my plaits and brushes the tip over the open palm of his other hand. ‘You think I’m childish?’
I’m a little too flustered to think straight, which is irritating beyond measure.
‘I think the way you acted tonight was childish, yes. You’re a guest in my house.
You know I’ve been through the ringer. And when a thoroughly decent guy takes me out, you follow us and attempt to intimidate him by shooting daggers at him.
I would say that’s a very immature way to behave, and not fair to me at all. ’
He doesn’t defend himself. Instead he asks, in a strained voice, ‘Did he kiss you?’
‘What? No. Not that it’s any of your business.’
He exhales. He’s watching the tip of my plait as he brushes it over his palm. ‘Good.’
‘Max. Look at me.’
He raises his eyes to mine, and I wish I hadn’t asked, because there’s a whirlwind of emotions in those hazel eyes.
‘We’re in the past,’ I say. ‘You know that, correct? You know we didn’t work.’
He smiles, grimly amused. ‘That’s bullshit. We fucking worked. You know that as well as I do.’ He lets go of my hair and plants his hands either side of me on the AGA’s rail. Fencing me in.
‘You know what I mean.’ I’m even more flustered now, because holy shit, is he right. If he’s thinking the same dirty thoughts that I am, we worked really fucking well.
He relents. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘And you know I’ve had a shitty year. So why don’t you want me to be happy?’ I gaze up at him as I say it. His mouth is so close. If I stood on my tiptoes, I could reach it. Press a kiss to those full, firm lips.
That’s the worst idea in the world.
My body’s responding to his ridiculous alpha-male display at the farm, and I’m disgusted with myself. Disgusted with my biological reaction.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I mean, of course I want you to be happy. In theory. I just don’t want to see you with a guy like that.’
‘Newsflash. He’s perfect. He’s handsome, and kind, and humble, and he treated me so well tonight. He made me feel special. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way. And he’s a dad. He gets it.’
I throw that last part out specifically to hurt Max, and I can see it’s landed, because he flinches. And all of a sudden, I hate myself.
He pushes away from me, not meeting my eyes.
‘You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. Who you date these days is none of my business.
’ He grabs his car keys from the table. ‘Go and get some rest, and have a lie-in tomorrow. I told the kids earlier I’d make them pancakes in the morning if they came and woke me up instead of you. You need to catch up on your sleep.’
‘Thanks,’ I mutter. ‘That’s so decent of you.’ It’s pretty much the nicest thing he could have done, actually. The way my life is currently, there’s no better gift than the gift of sleep. The thought of rolling over and dozing for an extra couple of hours tomorrow is utterly blissful.
‘Not a problem,’ he grits out. He looks down at the keys, which he’s moving from hand to hand, and then back up at me. ‘You looked so fucking beautiful tonight, by the way, Mol. I hope he knows how lucky he is.’
And with that, he’s gone.