After their encounter in the hallway, he’d disappeared upstairs and she wondered whether she’d see him again that evening.
Maybe she’d be eating the casserole on her own.
But at least he was letting her stay.
Ridiculously happy, she tasted the casserole again and then nearly dropped the spoon as she glanced up and saw him in the doorway, watching her.
He’d changed into a soft black jumper and a pair of black jeans which were moulded perfectly to his hard thighs. His hair was still damp from the shower and his eyes were flinty black. He looked disturbingly male and more sexy than any man had a right to be.
And he wasn’t the right man for her, she reminded herself hastily, dropping the spoon into the sink.
He strolled into the room. ‘Tell me how you met Josh.’
‘Through work.’ She dragged her eyes away from the dark shadow of his jaw and lifted the casserole onto the table. ‘We met on an A and E course a few years ago.’
‘And?’
‘And he tried to get me into bed.’
Mac gave a short laugh and sat down. ‘Sounds like my baby brother.’
‘He didn’t succeed.’
‘Then he must be slipping.’
‘No. He just isn’t my type.’ She mashed potatoes and added milk and butter until they were fluffy. ‘He’s terrified of commitment and he’ll stay that way until he meets the right woman. And that woman certainly isn’t me.’
‘But he invited you here.’
She put the mashed potatoes on the table. ‘Josh has got a heart of gold. He’s worried about you and he’s worried about me. He knew I had nowhere else to go.’ She hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. ‘And he knows I hate being on my own at Christmas.’ She could feel his eyes fixed on her face.
‘Christmas has a lot to answer for,’ he said grimly, sitting back as she spooned casserole onto a plate. ‘The media perpetrate this image of perfect families gathered round a twinkling tree loaded with presents. Faced with that fantasy, people can only be disappointed. It’s no wonder the suicide rate is so shockingly high at this time of year.’
‘Yes, other people’s happiness has a way of driving you over the edge.’
His eyes narrowed as he took the plate from her. ‘Astute, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I know all about being on the outside, looking in.’ She pushed the potatoes towards him. ‘Help yourself. What was Christmas like when you were young? I love hearing about other people’s Christmases. Did you do the whole family thing, Mac?’
Somehow she couldn’t imagine him as a child. Carefree. Laughing. Ripping paper off presents in a frantic haste to get to what was inside.
Mac seemed too serious for all that. Adult.
‘Christmas.’ He gave a brief shrug and started to eat. ‘Turkey. Tree. Presents.’
She gave him a wistful look. ‘Did you play games?’
‘No, definitely not.’ He shook his head. ‘My parents entertained in lavish style. We usually had about thirty people for lunch. All Josh and I wanted to do was open presents and play, but we had to be on our best behaviour and sit for ages over the various courses that my mother produced.’
She pulled a face. ‘That doesn’t sound much fun.’
‘I’m guessing it was better than yours,’ he said softly, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Was yours very bleak?’
Oh, yes.
She toyed with her food. ‘It was different every year.’ She fought to keep her voice casual. ‘A couple of times I was in foster-care over Christmas and that was all right—except that I never really felt part of the family. I was always the outsider.’
‘And when you weren’t in foster-care?’