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But when they finally left the restaurant, several inches of snow had fallen and Bryony looked at the road doubtfully.

‘I’m not sure about driving—we could cadge a lift in one of the four-wheel-drives.’

‘They’re full,’ Jack told her, pushing her gently towards the car. ‘You’ll be fine.’

Bryony drove slowly but gradually she got the feel of the car and her confidence increased. Surprised by the lack of teasing from the passenger seat, she glanced sideways at Jack and realised that he’d fallen asleep.

Turning her attention back to the road, she turned right and followed the road for a while then gradually realised that it didn’t look at all familiar.

She carried on for a while, hoping to see a sign of some sort, but there was nothing. The snow was falling heavily now and she could barely see the road in front of her so it was a relief when she saw the lights of a pub ahead. At least they’d be able to find out where they were.

She stopped the car and Jack gave a yawn.

‘Are we home?’

Bryony slumped back in her seat and braced herself for some serious teasing. ‘I haven’t got a clue where we are.’

There was a moment’s silence while Jack squinted at the pub. ‘Well, if you had to get us lost, Blondie, at least you did it by a pub,’ he said mildly, undoing his seat belt and opening the car door.

‘Where are you going?’ She stared at him. ‘Are you asking for directions?’

He grinned. ‘Of course I’m not asking for directions. I’m a man. But I’m going to check whether the road is open further on. My ego doesn’t want to spend the night stuck in a snowdrift. It isn’t well enough insulated.’

He vanished into the pub and reappeared moments later, his expression serious. ‘As I thought, the road is blocked ahead and they won’t be able to clear it until the morning. We can stay here for the night. Do you need to ring your mum?’

Bryony shook her head and unfastened her seat belt. ‘She’s got Lizzie until tomorrow night. They’re going Christmas shopping together tomorrow.’

‘Great. In which case, we’ll stay here for the night and they can clear the road while someone cooks me bacon, sausages and mushrooms for breakfast,’ Jack said cheerfully, holding the door open and grabbing her arm so that she didn’t slip.

‘I haven’t got anything to sleep in,’ Bryony protested, and Jack shrugged, pushing open the door of the pub and hustling her into the warmth.

‘You can sleep in your underwear,’ he drawled, ‘unless you’d rather sleep in mine.’

She shot him a withering look and the amusement in his blue eyes deepened.

‘Just a suggestion.’

The landlady smiled at Jack and handed over a key. ‘It’s the last room. You’re lucky. It’s the honeymoon suite. We did it up specially because we have so many couples up here looking for somewhere to spend a romantic night.’

Bryony followed Jack up a flight of stairs, a frown on her face. ‘The last room? There’s only one room? And it’s the honeymoon suite?’

‘It’ll be fine.’ He unlocked the door. ‘I’ll sleep in the armchair.’

But there wasn’t an armchair. Just an enormous bed draped in fur and satin, a small dressing room and a huge, marble bathroom.

They looked at each other and Bryony gave a snort of laughter as she saw Jack’s face.

‘It’s the honeymoon suite, Jack,’ she cooed, unable to resist teasing him and he shook his head, gazing round the room in disbelief.

‘I knew there was a reason I never wanted to get married.’ He peered at the bed in amazement. ‘Hasn’t Lizzie got a bed just like that for one of her dolls?’

‘There’s no chair,’ Bryony said, glancing round for some alternative suggestion. ‘You’ll just have to sleep on the floor.’

‘There’s no way I’m sleeping on a fluffy carpet.’ Jack ripped off his jacket and dropped it over the end of the bed. ‘That’s an emperor-size bed at least. There’s plenty of room for two of us in that. And if we shut our eyes tightly we can probably forget about the satin and fur.’

Bryony stared at him. He was suggesting that they sleep in the same bed?

Jack took one look at her face and lifted an eyebrow in question. ‘We’ve known each other for twenty-two years, for goodness’ sake. Don’t you trust me, Blondie?’