for the emergency department.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Rosie had told him.
Marina didn’t date.
He hadn’t dated much since he’d split up with Marina, either. Most of the time, he’d been too busy at work to bother with a relationship. But when he’d come back to England and had started dating again something had always been missing. He’d always ended up finishing a relationship before it had even got started.
If he was honest with himself, he knew why: because nobody had ever matched up to his ex-wife.
And Rosie had told him that there was nobody serious in Marina’s life, either.
Quite what that meant, he didn’t know. Did Marina still have feelings for him? But, in that case, surely she would’ve talked to him and asked him to give their marriage another try, instead of sending divorce papers to him? Or maybe marriage to him had disappointed her so much that she wasn’t prepared to try again with anyone else.
The only way to find out was to ask her.
Though, it wasn’t the easiest of subjects to broach. Particularly as they had to work together. Right now, they had a guarded working-relationship; not an easy one, but a tolerable one. Asking the wrong questions at the wrong time could tip it over into being intolerable—which wouldn’t be fair to their colleagues.
Last time, they’d rushed into things, and it had gone spectacularly wrong. This time, maybe he should try being patient.
And when the time was right, Max decided, then he’d ask those questions.
Chapter Four
OVER the next week, Marina found herself growing more and more aware of her ex. She knew exactly when Max walked into the department, even if she was busy treating a patient in cubicles and couldn’t see him. And, when they were working together in Resus, she was conscious of every single movement he made. Time and again she found herself glancing at him, only to find that he was looking at her too.
This was insane. They’d crashed and burned last time round. So why couldn’t they keep their eyes off each other?
Every time his hand brushed hers as she handed him an ampoule, or he passed her a syringe, or they looked at an X-ray together, her pulse started racing—because her body still remembered the way he used to touch her: the feel of his skin sliding against hers, the roughness of the hair on his chest, the softness of his mouth as he’d kissed her awake. The scent of his skin, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and dimples appeared in his cheeks when he laughed, the way desire flared in his eyes and turned them from slate-blue to hot black whenever he looked at her.
She really had to get a grip. If this carried on for much longer, she’d go crazy.
She and Max were not an item. They were never going to be an item again. And it was about time her head got that straight.
Rosemary; Max would’ve known that scent anywhere. So Marina still used the same shampoo, then.
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