Free The Doctor's Lost-and-Found Bride by Kate Hardy Page B

Marina thought it would be better to keep things light. Extremely light. Especially as they’d agreed that tonight meant no strings.
    She stepped out of the shower, dried herself then pulled his bathrobe on and drew the belt tight. The robe was soft to the touch and smelled of him; it felt like being wrapped in his arms.
    She padded through to the kitchen. Max had obviously collected her clothes on the way; she could hear the gentle whirring of the washing machine, and he’d put the kettle on to make coffee.
    Though she couldn’t see any sign of the food he’d promised.
    ‘OK?’ he asked.
    She nodded. ‘And hungry. Do you want a hand?’
    ‘Thanks.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You know, I really was going to be nice and make you dinner.’
    ‘But?’ Something in his expression made her brave. Cheeky. She opened the first cupboard, peered inside and raised an eyebrow when she saw it was completely empty. And so was the next one. ‘I see. You did some training at Old Mother Hubbard’s school of cookery.’
    He rolled his eyes. ‘Very funny. Not everyone likes cooking, you know.’
    Didn’t they? ‘You used to enjoy it.’
    ‘No, I used to like being in a kitchen with you,’ he corrected. ‘You used to do the actual cooking. I just fetched things and washed up and talked to you.’
    She hadn’t thought of it that way. She just remembered doing what she always did with her family, everyone joining in and doing a bit, talking, laughing and singing as they washed up, mixed, tasted and cooked—the normal things that families did together. She remembered preparing meals with Max, sharing a single glass of wine with him, and half the time having a long break between preparing the meal and actually cooking it, because they’d ended up in bed together, needing to sate desire more than they’d needed to sate hunger.
    She looked in his fridge. There was a lump of cheese he hadn’t wrapped up properly that was going hard round the edges, a carton of orange juice and a carton of milk. So he didn’t even have the makings of an omelette or a basic dish of pasta with tomato sauce. And he didn’t have a fruit bowl of any description. ‘Max, this is atrocious. No wonder you’re so thin. Do you eat at all?’
    ‘Of course I do.’
    ‘Like what? Do you live on takeaway food or something?’
    ‘Anyone would think you were the food police,’ he grumbled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with takeaways.’
    ‘In moderation. But it’s not the same as eating a properly balanced meal.’
    ‘All right, if you must know, I normally eat at the hospital canteen at lunchtime so I don’t need to do more than make myself a sandwich when I get in.’
    She couldn’t help laughing. ‘A fresh-air sandwich, would that be? And an invisible piece of fruit?’
    He sighed. ‘I admit, I’m out of bread right now. And fruit. I forgot to buy some today.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’ That wasn’t all he’d forgotten to buy, from the look of it.
    He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t rub it in. So I’m out of sandwich fillings as well.’
    ‘I noticed.’
    ‘And I’m not too thin.’
    ‘No?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘My mother would take one look at you, make you sit down at the kitchen table and start cooking for you. I bet Rosie said something to you too, didn’t she?’
    ‘Well—yes,’ he admitted. ‘But your family doesn’t do subtle.’
    ‘No.’ Though he’d never seemed to mind. She was used to people being open and honest rather than reserved and masking their true feelings with a polite smile. It was so much easier to sort out any problems if you talked about them, instead of expecting the other person to guess what was going on inside your head, the way Max’s family seemed to do.
    ‘That wasn’t a criticism, by the way,’ Max added.
    ‘Wasn’t it?’
    ‘No. I’ve always liked your family. Even when they’re being really full on.’
    Because her family always acted out of love, Marina thought. There were no hidden agendas. You