pulled herself together and fixed the coffees, lecturing herself about the inappropriateness of her thoughts. By the time she walked on spaghetti legs to the exquisitely set table she felt more in control.
‘Thanks,’ Patrick said, as she put his mug down.
It looked out of place amidst the fancy-looking china that Lola had insisted they use for the impromptu tea party. Her grandmother had bought it for Lola a couple of years ago and though it had been inexpensive, it looked fit for a queen.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘It’s all a bit girly.’
Patrick smiled and shook his head. ‘I like a tea party as much as the next man,’ he declared, and the girls laughed hysterically as he stuck out his pinky and sipped his coffee.
‘Your daddy is funny,’ Lola said around a mouthful of cake.
Miranda agreed.
And sexy and manly and one hundred per cent at home in an environment that was suffocating in oestrogen. Which only ramped up his own masculinity. He looked so incredibly male amidst the frippery of a girly afternoon tea with the china and the delicate pink cupcakes, she wanted to drag him to her bedroom, rip his shirt open and rediscover every inch of his maleness.
Play a little doctor and nurse.
They made stilted conversation with their daughters for ten minutes before Lola announced they were going to watch some TV.
And then there were two.
Miranda stood and started gathering dishes. When Patrick placed a stilling hand on her arm she ignored it, continuing her task with manic speed.
‘Miranda,’ he said quietly, refusing to remove his hand, refusing to be ignored. ‘I need to explain.’
Miranda shook her head. ‘No,’ she said as she pushed crumbs from one plate onto another. ‘No, you don’t. Let’s just pretend it never happened and move on, okay? I won’t mention it, you won’t mention it…’ she stacked plates one on top of the other and picked them up, turning to leave ‘… and it’ll be fine.’
Patrick applied a little more pressure on her forearm and he felt the weight of her gaze as it moved to his hand, his gold wedding band a reminder of their predicament. ‘Miranda, we have to work together,’ he said gently. ‘I do need to explain. Sit. Please.’
Miranda would rather have enrolled in a medical trial that involved daily root-canal treatment but deep down she knew he was right. They did have to clear the air, for their professional life if nothing else. Or one of them was going to have to leave.
And she was guessing it would have to be the most expendable.
Which would be her.
She sat.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
