is that you were making it clear you aren’t exactly thrilled at my coming here,’ he accepted mockingly.
‘You knew I wouldn’t be,’ she snapped impatiently, moving to noisily lay the missing fourth place at the table. ‘How could you?’ She turned to glare at him. ‘What do you think you’re hoping to achieve? Because May—bless her!—may have been won over by you, for some inexplicable reason, but I can assure you that March and I aren’t fooled for a moment!’
He gave an admiring glance upstairs. ‘She’s something else, isn’t she?’ he murmured smilingly.
‘May or March?’ she challenged disgustedly.
‘Both of them, actually.’ He smiled. ‘For different reasons, of course.’
‘Oh, of course,’ January agreed sarcastically—not having the least idea what he meant! She hardly knew May at the moment, so illogical was her behaviour, although March—thank goodness—was her usual sharp-tongued self.
‘I bought a peace-offering.’ Max held up the bottle of wine he had been holding the whole time he’d stood beside the closed kitchen door. ‘May mentioned we were having chicken, so…’ He moved to place the bottle of white wine on the table. ‘It’s already chilled enough,’ he added dryly.
January looked at him frustratedly. ‘Why are you here, Max?’
He shrugged. ‘May invited me.’
She gave a dazed shake of her head. ‘You know, when we were younger, I was always the one who brought home the wounded birds and animals, May was always the one who warned me they wouldn’t survive away from their own environment. Their own kind,’ she added pointedly.
His gaze was narrowed now, that nerve once again pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘I hope you’re not implying that I’m wounded in some way?’ he finally bit out harshly.
Her eyes flashed impatiently. ‘I was implying that you should stay with your own kind!’ Obviously her sarcasm was completely lost on this man! But then, she hadn’t had as much practice at it as March had. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn…
Max’s brow cleared, his smile rueful now. ‘And exactly what is my own kind, January?’
‘Predatory!’ she answered with satisfaction.
He gave a disarming grin. ‘I have a feeling that any man would find himself completely outgunned—as well as outnumbered—by the three Calendar sisters!’
January did her best to maintain her furious expression—and failed miserably as her lips twitched and she began to smile, too. What was it about this man? How could she start off being angry or distant with him—usually angry!—and then end up grinning at him like an idiot? It didn’t make any sense!
‘January,’ he murmured softly, crossing the room to stand in front of her, his hands moving up to gently cradle each side of her face as he looked down at her searchingly. ‘I really thought it might have been you who was attacked last night,’ he groaned huskily.
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘And that would have bothered you?’
A frown darkened his brow. ‘Of course it would have bothered me!’ he rasped. ‘You must have known that…?’ He looked down at her frustratedly, fingers lightly caressing her brows.
She gave a shake of her head. ‘I’m not sure what I know any more, Max. One minute you’re—you’re making love to me, and the next—! Well, we both know what happened next,’ she remembered hardly, deliberately moving away, his hands falling back to his sides.
Just in time, as it happened, her two sisters coming back into the kitchen at that moment, May’s sharp gaze instantly taking in the fact that the two of them stood well apart, the tension between them tangible.
‘March was just telling me that there’s been another attack,’ May said briskly as she moved to check the food cooking on top of the Aga.
‘I meant to tell you earlier,’ January groaned. ‘But I—it slipped my mind.’ She deliberately avoided looking at Max—because they both knew he was the reason she had forgotten to mention this latest attack to her sister.
‘I meant to tell you all when I came in,’ March muttered self-disgustedly. ‘But for some reason it slipped my mind, too.’ She gave Max a pointed grimace, having changed into black denims and a bright orange jumper, the latter eye-catching, to say the least.
‘There seems to be a lot of it about,’ Max murmured appreciatively.
‘Yes,’ March drawled wryly.
‘Tell them the worst part about it, March,’ May encouraged impatiently.
‘What—? Oh, yes.’ March nodded. ‘It was Josh,’ she announced slightly incredulously.
‘What was?’ January prompted dazedly, still confused from having Max touch her in that way. Would she ever understand him?
‘Josh…?’ Max repeated slowly. ‘The same Josh who is marrying your cousin—Sara, isn’t it?—on Saturday?’ He looked accusingly at January, the sharpness of that gaze reminding her that it was the same Josh who had kissed her on Saturday evening!
‘That’s the one,’ March confirmed. ‘Although I’m not sure if the wedding will still be going ahead, in the circumstances?’ She looked across at May.
‘I’ll telephone Aunt Lyn in a moment.’ May nodded. ‘How awful for them all.’ She shook her head distractedly.
‘Hang on a minute,’ January protested, having been listening to this conversation with increasing incredulity.
She had known Josh most of her life, had, as she’d told Max on Saturday, been at school with him, and while there was no doubting Josh could be a little boisterous at times, liked to have fun, he also didn’t have a vicious bone in his body.
‘They have to have the wrong man.’ She shook her head dismissively. ‘Josh isn’t capable of attacking anyone, let alone seven women.’
‘Oh, no, you misunderstood me,’ March apologized with a grimace. ‘Josh was the one who was attacked,’ she explained disgustedly. ‘Beaten up pretty badly, from what I gather.’
What the hell—?
Now Max was as confused as January looked. Although, he had to admit, a few seconds ago he had been angry with her at her defence of the other man…!
‘But he’s a man!’ January burst out incredulously.
As well she might. As far as Max had been able to gather—although, having been out of the country for several months, he was obviously a latecomer to these random attacks—all the other victims had been women.
‘Are they sure it was the Night Striker?’ He frowned his own puzzlement.
‘Positive,’ March confirmed, seeming to have forgotten her antagonism towards him—for the moment. ‘Same M. O., or whatever they call it.’ She grimaced.
‘Modus operandi,’
