she noticed Theo hiding a grin. ‘What?’ she asked when the waitress had left.
‘Not only do you read a menu backwards, you order backwards.’
‘And your point is?’
‘I’m not laughing at you, Maddie,’ he said softly. ‘I’m smiling because it’s so refreshing to be with a woman who knows what she wants and is direct about it.’
If only he knew, she thought. Because there was something else she wanted. Something she couldn’t be direct about, because she couldn’t have it.
Dinner was fabulous, and the crème brûlée with rhubarb and ginger compote was just perfect. The film, too, lived up to expectations.
Theo insisted on walking her home from the tube station.
‘You really don’t have to. I’m streetwise enough not to get into trouble,’ Madison protested.
‘I don’t care. Where I grew up, men look after women.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, Theo. Really. You don’t have to worry.’
‘Tough. You can argue as much as you like—I’m walking you home.’
In the end, it was easier to agree with him.
‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ she asked as they stood outside her front door.
‘I thought you said you didn’t cook?’
‘I’m not making you Greek coffee.’ She smiled. ‘And even I can manage a cafetière.’
‘Then I accept. Efkharisto.’ He gave her a slight formal bow.
The first thing that struck Theo about the flat was the absence of pink. Madison was capable and professional at work, yet very feminine at the same time; she wore pink a lot, and he’d even overheard her having conversations about sparkly pink nail polish in the staff kitchen. But there was nothing girly about the décor. It was plain, neutral, relaxing. There was a string of feathery butterflies draped round the mirror above the mantelpiece, but other than that there were none of the fluffy things he’d expected. The kitchen was pure white and chrome—absolutely spotless—and Madison switched on the kettle before taking two mugs and a cafetière from the cupboard.
‘Come and sit down,’ she said, ushering him into the living room.
Theo’s attention was snagged by the photographs on the mantelpiece. There was a picture of Madison, her hair loose and blown about by the wind, standing in a garden; next to her was a taller woman with similar colouring who looked enough like her to be her sister. ‘That’s Katrina, I assume?’
‘Yes. In my parents’ back garden. These are my parents…’ She gestured to a photograph of an older couple. ‘And these are Katrina’s.’
‘Your fathers look very alike,’ he commented.
‘They’re brothers. My dad’s two years older than Uncle Danny—Katrina’s dad.’
In all the photographs, the groups of people had their arms round each other or were sharing a smile. They were clearly a very close family; for a moment, Theo felt wistful, missing his own family. The noise and chatter of his sisters, his brother’s terrible jokes, his father’s deep laugh and his stepmother’s gentle nurturing.
They’d adore Madison.
He pushed the thought away. It wasn’t going to happen. When he’d found out the truth about his past, the way his mother had died, he’d made a vow that he’d never, ever put a woman through the risks of childbirth. And Madison wanted children. Despite the fact that he’d never felt a pull so strong towards someone, he couldn’t act on it. It wouldn’t be fair to her. Madison, despite her independence and bubbly exterior, was vulnerable. She’d already had a miserable marriage to someone who hadn’t wanted what she wanted out of life; how could he ask her to repeat that? And she wasn’t looking for a short-term affair, which was all he could offer her.
He changed the subject. ‘This isn’t what I expected.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you think my flat would be like?’
‘Girly. Full of pink, glittery, fluffy things.’
She smiled. ‘I’m thirty, not thirteen.’
‘Which doesn’t mean a thing. So do I get a guided tour?’ he asked.
‘Sure. This is the living room, and you’ve seen the kitchen. I’m on the top floor, so I don’t have a garden, which leaves you with the bathroom, here…’ She led him into the hallway and opened a door to reveal another restful room, in blue and white with a print of a lighthouse on one wall and a mirror decorated in shells. ‘And my room.’
Now, that was more what he’d expected, and he couldn’t resist smiling. Madison’s bedroom was as girly as it got. Although the walls and curtains and carpets were plain and neutral, just like the rest of the flat, there was a huge pile of cushions on the wrought-iron bed in a variety of textures from soft velvet to smooth silk, some of them embroidered and others with decorative beadwork and sequins. There was a haphazard pile of books on her bedside table—from the designs on the covers, he could tell that they were the kind of romantic comedies his oldest sister loved—but the bit that silenced him temporarily was the string of pink, fluffy lights around the mirror on Madison’s dressing table.
‘Did you just tell me you were thirty, not thirteen?’ he teased, gesturing towards the lights.
‘They were a joke present from Katrina. But, actually, I like them. They make me smile. And there’s a lot to be said for getting up in the morning with a smile on your face.’
Her blue eyes were lit up with laughter, and Theo found himself wondering why on earth Madison’s husband had ever let her down—why he’d been mad enough to let her go. Madison was bright and funny and full of the kind of joie de vivre that would light up the life of anyone whose life she shared. If she were his, he’d never let her go.
But she couldn’t be his.
Not permanently.
Because she wanted children and he really, really couldn’t take that risk.
And it wouldn’t be fair to offer her anything less than her dreams.
‘Theo?’
She looked worried, so he gave himself a mental shake and smiled at her. ‘Sorry. Carried away with thoughts of those cushions—and just how girly you really are, Dr Gregory.’
She spread her hands. ‘What can I say? I’m a girl.’
He knew that.
Every nerve end in his body was telling him to kiss her.
And he only just managed to stop himself. Because, once he started, he knew he wouldn’t be able to call a halt. Not until he’d undressed her and kissed every inch of skin he uncovered, touching her as if he’d be able to commit the feel of her skin, her scent and her taste to his memory.
‘Indeed,’
