she added hardly.
He gave an abrupt inclination of his head, moving to the telephone to call Room Service and order the coffee.
January was glad of the few moments’ respite from his probing blue gaze, moving away to take off her scarf and gloves before shaking her hair loose from the collar of her jacket.
What was she doing here? Really doing here? Because she had already done what she’d come here to do—and now she was staying to have coffee with the man.
She bit her lip, knowing exactly why she was still here. She couldn’t believe—part of her didn’t want to believe!—Max was actually guilty of the things she had accused him of!
Not that she had any intention of letting Max see that particular weakness; that wouldn’t do at all. She just wanted to see—needed to see—some sort of redeeming feature in his character that told her she was justified to feel about him the way that she really did.
‘It’s on its way.’ Max spoke softly behind her.
Too close behind her, she discovered when she spun round sharply, stepping back as she found Max standing only inches away from her.
He looked at her quizzically. ‘You were miles away.’
‘Wishing myself…’ she came back tautly.
He gave a pained wince. ‘Then that makes two of us,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I was wishing the same thing a short time ago,’ he explained at her questioning look.
January’s breath caught in her throat at the burning intensity of his gaze. ‘And now?’
‘Now?’ he echoed with a self-derisive grimace. ‘Now I wish it would just keep snowing. Snowing. And snowing. I wish, January—’ he took a step closer to her ‘—that the rest of the world would just go away, that the two of us could get marooned alone together in here. For a week. A month!’ he concluded heavily.
She looked up at him uncertainly, her breath now coming in short, shallow gasps. ‘Can you get snowed in in a hotel room?’ she breathed huskily.
‘Probably not,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘But—’ He broke off as a knock sounded on the door. ‘That will be the coffee,’ he acknowledged disgustedly.
‘So much for being marooned alone together,’ January pointed out softly.
He gave a derisive inclination of his head. ‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, after all,’ he rasped before moving abruptly away to open the door and admit the maid with their tray of coffee.
He seemed different this evening, January acknowledged frowningly. Apart from that brief lapse just now, he was more distant. More remote. His gaze no longer burning with that intensity, but wary.
Of course he was different, she instantly admonished herself; his cover was blown, which meant he no longer needed to act like a man who was besotted with her.
‘Cream and sugar?’
She turned sharply, blinking to clear her head as she saw Max was waiting to pour her coffee, the maid having already quietly departed. ‘Black. Thank you,’ she added stiffly.
What was she doing here? she asked herself once again. Had she secretly hoped? Had a part of her still thought that perhaps there had been some sort of mistake—
‘Thank you.’ She moved to take the cup out of his hand, her gaze not quite meeting his as he looked down at her probingly.
January, careful not to let their hands touch as she took the cup from him, moved away from him abruptly to once again look out of the window, blinking back the sudden tears that blurred her vision.
She had been so angry earlier, at the realization of exactly who he was, at what she believed to be his duplicity; now she just felt miserable. Because it was all over? Because for that brief forty-eight hours she had felt wrapped in Max’s interest in her? Had known a feeling of being cared for that she hadn’t felt since her father had died? Was that why she so desperately wanted to cry?
How stupid she was. She should have known, should have guessed, that having a man like Max interested in her just couldn’t be real. After all, what was she really but a part-time farmer and singer? Hardly the sort of woman Max could ever be serious about. For all she knew about him, he could already be a married man! The very thought of that was enough to stiffen her backbone.
‘Max—’
‘January—’
They both began talking at once, January giving Max a rueful grimace as she turned to face him. ‘You first,’ she invited huskily.
His expression was bleak, eyes icy blue, letting her know that whatever he was going to say, she wasn’t going to like it.
Whatever he said now, Max knew January wasn’t going to like it. If he mentioned Jude and renewed his offer to buy the farm, January wasn’t going to like it. If he tried to explain—once again!—that he really hadn’t known she was one of the Calendar sisters, he knew she wasn’t going to like that, either. Or, indeed, believe him.
Besides, what was the point in even trying to convince her that he was telling the truth about that when he had already decided to back away from that particular situation himself? Back away—he was back-pedalling so fast he was surprised she couldn’t hear the pedals going round!
God, she was beautiful, he inwardly acknowledged achingly.
Yes, she was.
But now that he knew who she was, the closeness of her family, he also knew that whatever she might have said about love the night they’d first met, she was actually the sort of woman who wouldn’t settle for anything less than marriage—and, no matter how attracted he was to her, the very thought of being married, to anyone, gave him an icy lump of panic in the pit of his stomach.
His mouth thinned grimly. ‘I spoke to Jude Marshall earlier,’ he bit out forcefully. ‘He’s willing to increase his offer.’
January recoiled as if he had actually struck her, and it took every ounce of Max’s will-power not to take her in his arms, to tell her that everything would be okay, that while he was around no one would ever take the farm away from her, or anything else, if she didn’t want them to.
But who was he kidding? He had known Jude most of his life, might be a trusted friend as well as employee, but he also knew the other man well enough to know that what Jude wanted, he got, usually by fair means, but if those means ultimately failed…! Jude had left him in absolutely no doubt earlier that he wanted the Calendar farm, and that he intended getting it.
Max’s own inner feelings of a conflict of interest simply wouldn’t come into the other man’s equation!
Max thrust his hands into the pockets of his denims, his fists tightly clenched. ‘My advice to you all is to seriously consider this second offer,’ he told January harshly.
Her eyes widened indignantly as she snapped, ‘I wasn’t aware I had asked for your advice!’
He shrugged with seeming unconcern, hating himself for talking to her in this way, but at the same time knowing that he
