Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded. Kate Hardy

opened the car door for her. Isobel’s hands were shaking slightly and she fumbled the entry code for the security system; it took her three goes to press the right buttons in the right order. By the time she unlocked her front door, she was a nervous wreck.

      Alex paused, leaning against the doorway. ‘Bel, let me reassure you that I’m planning to sleep on your sofa tonight. I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do.’

      That was what worried her most: what she wanted to do. The more she thought about sex with Alex, the more she was tempted to do it.

      Except she didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship.

      And she definitely didn’t want to tell him her deepest, darkest secret—the thing she’d only told Saskia after extracting a promise from her best friend that Saskia wouldn’t tell anyone else and wouldn’t ever talk about it again.

      She couldn’t possibly marry Alex. Even though she was pretty sure he didn’t want children, what if he changed his mind? If anyone had asked her before today, she would’ve said straight out that Alex would never get married. And yet today he’d asked her to marry him. Tomorrow he might want to start a family. Something she wasn’t sure she could do.

      Her worries must have shown on her face, because he said softly, ‘Have I ever let you down before?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘That’s not going to change.’

      Maybe. But if she married him, she’d be letting him down. Taking a choice away without telling him. Which was morally wrong.

      Even though she knew she was being a coward, she muttered, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. I need an early night.’

      ‘I’ll make sure I don’t disturb you. Do you want me to bring you a glass of water and some paracetamol?’

      ‘Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’d better sort the sofa bed out for you.’

      ‘I’ll do it.’ He reached out to stroke her cheek. ‘See you in the morning, Bel. Hope you get some sleep.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      TRUE to his word, Alex didn’t disturb her. And when Isobel got up the next morning he’d already put the sofa bed back to rights, tidied up and made coffee.

      ‘Morning. How’s your head?’

      ‘Better, thanks.’ The fib had blossomed into the truth, and she’d ended up taking paracetamol.

      ‘Here.’ He passed her a mug of coffee—hot, strong and milky, exactly the way she liked it. ‘Toast?’

      ‘Yes, please.’ She sat down at the little bistro table in the kitchen. This was the Alex she knew best. Her friend who knew her so well that he could practically read her mind. Though usually she was the one making toast and he was the one filching it from her plate.

      ‘So what are you doing today?’ he asked.

      ‘Roman kitchens,’ she said. ‘How about you?’

      He joined her at the table after he’d switched on the toaster. ‘A bit of research.’

      But nothing that really excited him, from the flatness of his tone. And he still seemed faintly subdued when she left for work.

      Alex really needed a new challenge, she thought. Like the job he’d told her about yesterday; his eyes had been almost pure silver with excitement when he’d described it. But she still didn’t see how getting married would make any difference to whether he got the job. There was no reason for her to feel even slightly guilty about turning down his proposal. She’d done the right thing for both of them.

      Though she couldn’t stop thinking about him all day. And when she walked in her front door that evening and smelled something gorgeous cooking, guilt bloomed. ‘Alex, I didn’t expect you to cook for me.’

      ‘No worries.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s as easy to cook for two as it is for one.’

      She scoffed. ‘You mean, you were that bored.’

      He handed her a glass of red wine. ‘Go away and let me have my mid-life crisis in peace.’

      ‘It’s my flat. I’m not going anywhere.’ But she sat down at the table. ‘What mid-life crisis? Alex, you’re thirty-five. That’s hardly middle-aged. And you don’t have a conventional desk job, so you can’t exactly take a six-month sabbatical and grow your hair and ride a motorbike round the world in search of adventure. That’s what you do for a day job, for goodness’ sake!’

      ‘I don’t have a motorbike.’

      ‘Don’t nit-pick. What I mean is, for you to do the opposite of what you normally do, you’d have to cut your hair short and get an office job and wear a suit and date the same person for more than three consecutive evenings. For most people, your life would be an adventure.’ She looked at him. ‘What mid-life crisis, anyway?’

      He wrinkled his nose and turned away to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Just forget I said anything.’

      She shook her head. ‘You’ve been quiet for you, today. Something’s obviously bothering you. Come and sit down and talk to me.’

      ‘I’m busy cooking dinner.’

      She sniffed. ‘Chicken casseroled in red wine, baked potatoes and salad?’

      He smiled wryly. ‘All right. So most of the cooking’s already done. How did you know what I was cooking, anyway?’

      ‘Apart from the fact it’s your signature dish? Educated guess,’ she said dryly. ‘You just emptied that bottle into a clean glass.’

      ‘I could’ve been swigging straight from the bottle,’ he pointed out.

      They both laughed, then he shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve been quiet because this is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. I start thinking—and that’s dangerous.’

      ‘Talk to me, Alex,’ she said softly. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘This is going to sound mad.’

      ‘Tell me anyway.’

      He sighed and joined her at the table. ‘I’m thirty-five, Bel. My little sisters are all settled, married with a family. All the people I was at university with have settled down—some of them are on their second marriage, admittedly, but they’re settled. And although I love my life, I’m starting to wonder if what I’ve got is really enough for me any more. If it’s what I really want.’

      ‘So you’re saying you want to settle down and have children?’ Isobel asked carefully.

      ‘Yes. No. Maybe.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m starting to think about what I do now. I’m doing something about my job, but what about the rest of my life? Do I want be one of these eternal bachelors who still behave as if they’re in their twenties when they’re pushing sixty?’

      She smiled. ‘I can’t quite see you doing that, Alex.’ He’d still be immensely charming when he was almost sixty. He’d still turn heads. But he’d also have dignity and wouldn’t try to pretend he was still young.

      ‘But time goes by so fast, Bel. It seems like yesterday that Helen had the boys, and now they’re seven. Next thing I know, I’m going to be forty-five and I’ll be the spare man invited to dinner parties to make up the numbers, sitting next to the woman who’s just got divorced and either hates all men or is desperate for company.’

      She frowned. ‘Alex, this isn’t like you. And this whole thing about looking to the future…oh, my God.’ A seriously nasty thought clicked into place. The reason why he suddenly wanted to settle down. ‘Is there something you’re not telling anybody?’

      ‘Such as?’