Caroline Anderson - Two Little Miracles

And then she looked up and met his eyes, and time stopped. His heart was lodged in his throat, and for the life of him he couldn’t look away.

He wanted her.

He was still furious with her for keeping the babies from him, for leaving him without warning and dropping off the face of the earth, but he’d never stopped loving her, and he loved her now.

‘Jules—’

She stepped back, the spell broken by the whispered word, and screwed the lid back on the gel. But her fingers were trembling, and for some crazy reason that gave him hope.

‘You need a clean shirt. Have you got anything with you?’

‘Yes, in the car. I’ve got a case with me.’

She looked back at him, her eyes widening. ‘You’re planning on staying?’ she said in a breathless whisper, and he gave a short huff of laughter.

‘Oh, yes. Yes, Jules, I’m staying. Because now I’ve found you, I’m not losing sight of you or my children again.’

Caroline Andersonhas the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, run her own soft-furnishing business, and now she’s settled on writing. She says, ‘I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realised it was variety, and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends, and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher husband John and I have two beautiful and talented daughters, Sarah and Hannah, umpteen pets and several acres of Suffolk that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!’ Caroline also writes for the Mills & Boon Medical™ Romance series.

Recent titles by the same author:

Medical™ RomanceA MUMMY FOR CHRISTMAS THEIR MIRACLE BABY ( Brides of Penhally Bay )

RomanceTHE SINGLE MUM AND THE TYCOON HIS PREGNANT HOUSEKEEPER

BY

CAROLINE ANDERSON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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‘I’M NOT going with you.’

Her voice was unexpectedly loud in the quiet bedroom, and Max straightened up and stared at her.

‘What? What do you mean, you’re not coming with me? You’ve been working on this for weeks—what the hell can you possibly have found that needs doing before you can leave? And how long are you talking about? Tomorrow? Wednesday? I need you there now, Jules, we’ve got a lot to do.’

Julia shook her head. ‘No. I mean, I’m not coming. Not going to Japan. Not today, not next week—not ever. Or anywhere else.’

She couldn’t go.

Couldn’t pack up her things and head off into the sunset—well, sunrise, to be tediously accurate, as they were flying to Japan.

Correction: Max was flying to Japan. She wasn’t. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not again, not for the umpteenth time in their hectic, tempestuous, whirlwind life together. Been there, done that, et cetera. And she just couldn’t do it any more.

He dropped the carefully folded shirt into his case and turned towards her, his expression incredulous. ‘Are you serious? Have you gone crazy?’

‘No. I’ve never been more serious about anything. I’m sick of it,’ she told him quietly. ‘I don’t want to do it any more. I’m sick of you saying jump, and all I do is say, “How high?”’

‘I never tell you to jump!’

‘No. No, you’re right. You tell me you need to jump, and I ask how high, and then I make it happen for you—in any language, in any country, wherever you’ve decided the next challenge lies.’

‘You’re my PA—that’s your job!’

‘No, Max. I’m your wife , and I’m sick of being treated like any other employee. And I’m not going to let you do it to me any more.’

He stared at her for another endless moment, then rammed his hands through his hair and glanced at his watch before reaching for another shirt. ‘You’ve picked a hell of a time for a marital,’ he growled, and, not for the first time, she wanted to scream.

‘It’s not a marital,’ she said as calmly as she could manage. ‘It’s a fact. I’m not coming—and I don’t know if I’ll be here when you get back. I can’t do it any more—any of it—and I need time to work out what I do want.’

His fists balled in the shirt, crushing it to oblivion, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if she’d been the one who’d ironed it. The laundry service took care of that. She didn’t have time. She was too busy making sure the cogs were all set in motion in the correct sequence.

‘Hell, Jules, your timing sucks.’

He threw the shirt into the case and stalked to the window, ramming his hand against the glass and staring out over the London skyline, his tall, muscled frame vibrating with tension. ‘You know what this means to me—how important this deal is. Why today?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I just—I’ve hit a brick wall. I’m so sick of not having a life.’

‘We have a life!’ he roared, twisting away from the window and striding across to tower over her, his fists opening and closing in frustration. ‘We have a damn good life.’

‘No, we go to work.’

‘And we’re stunningly successful!’

‘Business-wise, I agree—but it’s not a life.’ She met his furious eyes head-on, refusing to let him intimidate her. She was used to Max in a temper, and he’d never once frightened her. ‘Our home life isn’t a success, because we don’t have a home life, Max. We didn’t see your family over Christmas, we’ve worked over New Year—for God’s sake, we watched the fireworks out of the office window! And did you know today’s the last day for taking down the decorations? We didn’t even have any, Max. We didn’t do Christmas. It just happened all around us while we carried on. And I want more than that. I want—I don’t know—a house, a garden, time to potter amongst the plants, to stick my fingers in the soil and smell the roses.’ Her voice softened. ‘We never stop and smell the roses, Max. Never.’

He frowned, let his breath out on a harsh sigh, and stared at his watch. His voice when he spoke was gruff.

‘We have to go. We’re going to miss our flight. Take some time out, if that’s what you need, but come with me, Jules. Get a massage or something, go and see a Zen garden, but for God’s sake stop this nonsense—’

‘Nonsense?’ Her voice was cracking, and she firmed it, but she couldn’t get rid of the little shake in it. ‘I don’t believe you, Max. You haven’t heard a damn thing I’ve said. I don’t want to go to a Zen garden. I don’t want a massage. I’m not coming. I need time—time to think, time to work out what I want from life—and I can’t do that with you pacing around the hotel bedroom at four o’clock in the morning and infecting me with your relentless enthusiasm and hunger for power. I just can’t do it, and I won’t.’

He dashed his hand through his hair again, rumpling the dark strands and leaving them on end, and then threw his washbag in on top of the crumpled shirt, tossed in the shoes that were lying on the bed beside the case and slammed it shut.