He wasn’t supposed to say things like that this morning. He wasn’t supposed to touch me. It felt too good. Too easy, too right.
It felt like more.
John charged into the dining room, brandishing a fish slice. He spotted Nathan and tutted. “I thought you were Jacob.”
“Can I get you something, Dad?” Nathan said.
“Tomatoes. In the cellar.”
“No problem,” Nathan replied. John charged back into the kitchen.
Nathan grinned at me and leaned over as if he was going to kiss me. My heart began to race. Kissing couldn’t be a good idea. Not if last night was supposed to have been a time-out. Before I could figure out whether his lips were going to touch mine and if they did, what that meant, his phone bleeped between us, breaking the moment.
He glanced at the screen. “Shit,” he said, stepping away from me as he scrolled through a message.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He typed a reply and stepped toward me, his fingers skimming the waistband of my jeans.
“Of course,” he said. “You’re gorgeous.”
His words were like a blanket of warmth I knew I shouldn’t get too comfortable underneath, but the more time I spent with Nathan, the more I liked him. The more I wanted more from him.
“We have to get back to London. There’s something very urgent I need to deal with.”
I nodded and waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“Are you packed and ready?” he asked.
“Oh, you mean you want to go now?” Reality washed over me like a bucket of cold water.
Soon we’d be back in London and our time-out would be over. Things would go back to how they’d been between us—strictly professional. The problem was, even after we left Norfolk, I wasn’t sure I could leave what I’d found there behind.
Twenty-One
Nathan
It wasn’t quite six but Audrey seemed like she needed a drink. She was hopping on and off the bar stool at my kitchen counter like the place had fleas. She needed to calm down because she wasn’t thinking straight. Why else would she have been hammering on my door, loud and long enough to get reported to the tabloids? The fury in Gretel’s text at another story about Audrey and me running in this morning’s papers had been undisguised. She knew the board wouldn’t be happy. She knew the ice I was skating on was melting. Bloody tabloids. Bloody Mandy Mason. She had spies everywhere.
“Do you want to sit on the sofa?” I asked, nodding toward the windows.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your weekend.”
“You’re not.” I’d made it home about an hour ago. I’d offered to drop Madison off—she was only across the Heath. That’s when things had shifted. Maybe she thought having me take her home would be too personal or something, but she insisted on getting a cab from my place. I brushed it off, hiding the little sting I felt at her dismissal. It seemed clear she wanted to get back to business as usual. That had been our agreement, but our time—and time-out—in Norfolk forced me to see that Madison had never been “business as usual” for me. Not since that first night together.
“Shit, Nathan. How did this happen? How am I married to a criminal?”
“Have you got the agreement with you?”
Audrey pulled out a piece of paper from her handbag. “My lawyer said it’s good and we should sign it.”
That was excellent news, but Audrey’s face didn’t show it. I took the letter from her and read it. “So, when are you going to sign?” I asked, wondering why she hadn’t done so already.
“Did you read it?” she asked. “It says I would have to testify against Mark as part of the deal.”
She couldn’t be surprised about that. “You’re not going to have to say anything that isn’t the truth.”
“But he’s my husband. He’s going to expect me to be loyal. And I’m not required by law to testify. Maybe I shouldn’t sign it. Maybe I should take my chances.”
It wasn’t just me who had been sucked into giving Mark the benefit of the doubt all these years. How did he manage it?
“You really need to start thinking about yourself. Was Mark being loyal when he was stealing people’s money?”
“I’m his wife, not his client.”
“He knew that he was dragging you into this, unwitting as you were. He wasn’t thinking about anyone but himself.”
She sighed and put her head in her hands. “You’ve been his friend for years. If you thought he was such a bad guy, why have you stayed in touch for so long?”
I’d been asking myself the same question for a while now. I circled the kitchen island and took a seat beside her. “I don’t know. At university, I felt sorry for him. By the time everything happened, it seemed like he needed me and I . . . I couldn’t cut him off.”