‘What the...? Have you been in the gym all this time?’ he demanded angrily. ‘No, don’t answer that, I can see it for myself. You’re practically white, Evie.’
‘I think I did a bit too much,’ she admitted quietly, wondering if she was going to be sick or whether she just thought she was going to be.
‘You think?’
‘I just... Hey!’ She panicked as he scooped her up into his arms. ‘I need a shower—what are you doing?’
‘I’m doing exactly what it looks like. I’m carrying you into the kitchen because, frankly, you’re never going to make it upstairs by yourself, and I think you could do with something inside your stomach. Your shower can wait, unless you want to risk collapsing?’
‘You’re right,’ Evie answered slowly, trying to ignore the way every nerve ending in her body felt it was on fire beneath Max’s
touch. ‘I think I probably am a bit hungry.’
At least her stomach didn’t let her down, giving a thunderous rumble of agreement at the mention of food.
She wasn’t quite prepared for the indignity of Max instructing her to peel off her damp tee shirt and handing her his warm fleece jacket. Not even the sight of her in her bra caused a raised eyebrow from him, she thought glumly. A far cry from the fervour with which they had repeatedly devoured each other a year ago.
But within moments she was seated on a chair, a mouth-watering glass of no-longer-forbidden orange juice in front of her, Imogen in her line of sight and playing happily with some soft blocks, whilst Max whisked up two omelettes.
Evie watched in silence considering how, to an outsider, it might have looked like a scene of blissful domesticity. How wrong they would be. She pushed the thought from her head, wondering why she felt so down. But last night had only proved that whatever attraction had once bounced between her and Max, it was now gone. At least, on his part. So she might as well just enjoy the here and now with him as the father of her child, if nothing else.
‘D’you know I haven’t been able to eat a whole-egg omelette for almost a year?’ She forced herself to smile, realising that it wasn’t all that difficult as Max set the warm plate down in front of her and slipped into the far seat so that he didn’t block her view of their daughter.
‘Well, I make a mean omelette if I say so myself. Plus there’s a bagel with cream cheese and some smoked salmon if you want it.’
‘You remembered.’ She was surprised. Not that she could eat all that now, but it had been her favourite breakfast when working in the hospital, and Max had made it for her a couple of mornings during their fling. When they’d dragged themselves out of bed, that was. Or the shower. Or the swivel office chair.
They ate in companionable silence before Evie reluctantly pushed her chair back, carrying her plate over to the worktop.
‘Thanks,’ she told him sincerely. ‘I guess I’d better go and get a shower before the sweat dries on me and I get a chill. Can’t imagine Professor Goodwin would be amused.’
‘Not really,’ Max agreed. ‘Leave that, I’ll sort it.’
Pivoting on her heel as best she could, Evie headed upstairs, finally allowing herself the indulgence of breathing in Max’s unique scent from his fleece. A bittersweet sensation, which brought back memories of their time together, as well as a sadness that it would never be like that between them again. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
At least the shower in her bathroom called seductively to her and, after checking her blood pressure and temperature were within the expected ranges, Evie headed into the tiled area, the underfloor heating making the floor as pleasant to walk over as she remembered.
‘Hello, power shower,’ she murmured, looking at the oversized walk-in shower she had fallen in love with in those few days before going into hospital.
Turning the chrome-spoked wheel and selecting the waterfall setting, Evie stepped back and flashed a triumphant smile as the steaming-hot water spilled out. Now all she had to do was strip off.
Easier said than done.
It took her almost five minutes to divest herself of her exercise outfit. Stretching still pulled at the incision, especially after having overdone it in the gym, and she didn’t want to give the wound any reason to seep and not heal perfectly.
She was in the uncomfortable process of twisting her arms back to try to reach her bra clips when she realised she wasn’t going to be able to lift her arms high enough to wash her hair. Not a pleasant prospect given the way she’d sweated in the gym, trying to empty her mind of wanton thoughts of Max. Evie stopped, leaning on the marble countertop as she tried to decide the best course of action.
Leave it. Or ask Max for help.
She chewed on her lip nervously.
What was a realistic solution? She really couldn’t afford not to wash her hair, but she could hardly bend double over the sink—her body wasn’t quite recovered for that yet. Short of getting into the shower with her, how was Max supposed to help her? She froze at the images that conjured. Not least the memories of the shower they’d shared during their nights together. She could almost feel the water coursing over her skin as Max had explored her with his mouth.
Stop right there, she warned herself silently. If the way he’d divested her of her top downstairs was anything to go by, he’d be professional, polite and not in the least bit attracted to her. She’d do well to follow his lead, and if he could be detached then so could she.
Besides, there was nothing else for it.
Slamming off the shower and snatching up a towel, she squared her shoulders and went in search of Max. Grateful to see him coming up the stairs as she reached the landing.