The Army Doc's Baby Secret

How it had brought them here.

Zeke led Tia out onto the terrace and the pool area.

‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’ Tia sounded dismayed.

He bit his tongue before he could suggest she didn’t need to worry about wearing one. The very idea of it leaving him hard, and aching.

‘I can have someone bring you anything you need.’

It wasn’t the right thing to say. A reminder of his money, his power. And the fact that she already didn’t trust him.

The thaw slid between them in an instant.

‘Thank you.’

It was so damn polite and civil. Like strangers rather than the old married couple they’d been the hour or so before. Tia had been right when she’d said they’d been like perpetual honeymooners during their marriage. They barely knew each other at all.

He forced himself to resume the tour, to carry on walking through the house and working his way from ground floor to first floor, but the ease between them had gone. Until finally he was opening the door to his study and wondering why they were still fighting a lost cause.

Maybe it would be better tomorrow.

‘This is where you work,’ she breathed, moving across the space to the huge picture windows in front of his desk. ‘You can see a lot from up on this floor.’

‘I can watch some of the training exercises without anyone feeling they’re being overseen.’

‘I imagine you’re quite off-putting.’

‘Mainly for the clients, not so much my men. They’re all ex-soldiers with years of experience.’

‘I imagine.’

Again, that restrained stiffness.

‘Would you like a drink?’ He proffered a decanter of amber liquid, even though he rarely bothered to drink much these days.

For a moment he thought she was going to decline, and then she dipped her head.

‘Why not?’

He poured the drinks and then, in silence, they stood by the window and watched Seth—their son—at play with the other children, streaking around the garden and tugging balloons and streamers with them.

‘This is what you’re reading?’ she asked abruptly, breaking the silence. ‘First World War books?’

‘Autobiographies. From Europe and from the Pacific.’

‘I’ve read this one.’ She tapped the cover, her smile sad. ‘It’s quite moving.’

It would break the fragile bridge if he told her he’d already read it so instead he dipped his head thoughtfully.

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘No problem.’

And there it was, that easiness back. So seamlessly.

They were close, both propped against his desk as they watched the domestic scene unfolding before them. It was all too reminiscent of Tia’s consultation room back at the lifeboat house. And all he wanted to do was to indulge in a repeat performance.

He didn’t dare move.