New Year Kisses: His Cinderella Mistress. Lucy King

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       CHAPTER NINE

      ‘THIS is really very good of you.’

      January turned to look at Max as he stood in the doorway watching her make up the bed he was to sleep in.

      And it wasn’t very good of her at all. She knew it wasn’t. And so did he.

      She still couldn’t believe those brief feelings of suspicion she had had about him earlier. Worse, couldn’t believe she had let Max see those suspicions.

      Of course he wasn’t responsible for the attack on Josh. Yes, Max had been angry at the younger man on Saturday when Josh had dared to kiss her, had looked more than capable of hitting Josh when he’d pulled him away from January. But on Sunday evening, the very next day, Max had made it more than plain that she would never be more than a brief flirtation to him. Rather nullifying any feelings of violence he might have previously felt towards Josh!

      She drew in a deep breath before straightening, facing Max across the width of her father’s bedroom. ‘I really do apologise for—well, for any thoughts I may have had earlier—’

      ‘That I’m the person who attacked Josh?’ Max finished scathingly as he strolled further into the room. ‘If it makes you feel any better, January, I’m sure the police will have been informed about my—little disagreement, with Josh on Saturday evening, and will be following it up accordingly. They will no doubt be questioning me about the incident,’ he explained dryly as she looked puzzled.

      January could feel her cheeks paling. She hadn’t thought of that.

      How awful.

      But no more awful, surely, than those brief suspicions she had had concerning Max?

      ‘Was this your father’s bedroom?’

      She turned back to Max, to see him looking interestedly around the room, her father’s brush and comb set still on the dressing table, along with several paperback books, a photograph of the three sisters taking pride of place beside the clock on the bedside cabinet.

      Max reached out to pick up the photograph, studying it for several long moments, before putting it carefully back in place. ‘Cute,’ he murmured.

      January turned away. She had been feeling awkward with him all evening. As the four of them had eaten dinner together. As they’d turned the television on later that evening to listen to the weather forecast and heard that the blizzard had now spread over most of the country. The warning had been repeated about not travelling unless it was absolutely necessary, accompanied by several scenes where people hadn’t heeded that warning, showing dozens of vehicles that had had to be abandoned.

      The least she could do, January had decided, was to offer to make up Max’s bed for the night.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind?’ She indicated the bedroom. ‘The only other bed we have available is in the small bedsit we had converted over the garage—and that hasn’t been used since the summer.’ She grimaced.

      Max looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘That would be the accommodation used by the help you had staying last summer?’

      January gave him a sharp look. How did he—? Of course, she and May had discussed that in front of him earlier today. Although she sensed more than casual interest in Max’s remark…?

      ‘Yes,’ she confirmed slowly, watching him warily now.

      His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you would particularly care whether or not I froze to death over there.’

      Of course she cared. Too much, as it happened.

      She shrugged. ‘That may be a little difficult to explain to anyone who comes looking for you,’ she returned tartly.

      He grimaced. ‘That’s always supposing that someone did.’

      January gave a humourless smile. ‘I’m sure Jude Marshall would wonder what had happened to his lawyer!’

      Max had once again picked up the photograph of the three sisters, glancing across at her. ‘He just might at that,’ he conceded dryly. ‘You were very young when this photograph was taken.’ He frowned down at the image.

      ‘About two and a half.’ January nodded, strolling over to look down at the photograph. ‘March was three and a half, May a little over four.’

      ‘Three peas in a pod,’ Max drawled, referring to what January had said was her father’s description of them. ‘There seems to be someone standing behind you,’ he continued frowningly. ‘There, you see.’ He pointed to the hand resting on May’s left shoulder and another on March’s right, January sandwiched between her two sisters. ‘Your father?’ he prompted interestedly.

      She shook her head. ‘My father took the photograph.’

      Max looked even more puzzled. ‘Then who—?’

      ‘My mother,’ she told him abruptly, taking the photograph out of his hand and returning it to its original place on the bedside cabinet.

      Max looked at her frowningly. ‘Your mother? But—’

      ‘Can I get you anything else before I go to bed myself?’ January cut in СКАЧАТЬ