He could have grown two heads from the way Blossom was staring at him. Talk about taking charge, she thought resentfully.
It took her a few seconds before she could say, ‘I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.’ She hoped he’d take the hint.
‘You’ll be perfectly safe.’ The smoky voice now held a definite thread of dark amusement. ‘I’m not about to take advantage of the situation, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
Blossom wondered what it was about ‘I don’t think so’ that he didn’t understand. Drawing on her limited store of patience, which the day with the children had seriously depleted, she slid off the stool, saying, ‘I didn’t think that for a moment.’
It was true, she hadn’t. Zak Hamilton looked like the sort of man who chose his women for the wow factor they’d present when seen out on his arm. Even when she had her glad rags on and was all made up she wouldn’t qualify. She just didn’t want to play the part of the needy recipient in his Good Samaritan scenario, that was all, not when he had made it clear she looked pretty dire to him. Even with the temptation of Thai food. She loved Thai cooking.
‘Good. What’s it to be, then? I rather favour Thai, but I am open to suggestions.’
She had a very good suggestion for him and it wasn’t anything to do with food. ‘Look, Mr Hamilton, I don’t want to appear rude…’ she said coolly, reminding herself yet again he was Greg’s boss and the owner of the firm to boot. ‘But I have got things to do. Now, if you’d like that coffee before you go?’
Cornflower-blue eyes held her dark brown ones. ‘You’re not the easiest of females to get on with, are you?’ he observed mildly. ‘Definitely a bit prickly round the edges.’
Actually, she could get on with absolutely everyone, everybody said so. ‘I’ll tell Greg you called by to see how Melissa was,’ she said icily. So now clear off, Mr Big-Boss Hamilton!
‘Actually, I didn’t.’ He was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and expression benign. ‘Call to see how Melissa was, that is.’
‘But you said that’s why you had come.’ Hadn’t he?
‘You asked me if I’d called round to see how things were, that’s slightly different.’ He looked at her from steady eyes.
Not in her book. It was exactly the same.
‘I didn’t realise your sister was in hospital; Greg merely mentioned his wife had been taken ill with stomach trouble to my secretary when he phoned this morning. I imagined she’d eaten something that had disagreed with her, something like that. I called round to make sure Greg remembered we have an important meeting in Watford tomorrow morning.’
Blossom glared at him. ‘My sister is lying in a hospital bed after an emergency operation, and you expect him to go with you to a meeting in Watford?’ Her voice had risen with each word. What was with this man? Had he no feelings at all?
He sighed. ‘I told you, I didn’t know the circumstances,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘Of course I don’t expect him to accompany me now. I wouldn’t dream of it, in fact.’
Slightly mollified, Blossom tipped boiling water into the two poppy mugs. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she asked him without looking at the doorway again.
‘I take mine black.’
She had rather thought he might. And he would take ten-mile runs as a matter of course before breakfast, and drive a snazzy, top-of-the-range sportscar, and always sleep in the buff on black linen sheets. This last thought was more than a little disconcerting. Blossom took her time adding sugar and milk to her own mug, so the pink in her cheeks had subsided a little when she handed Zak his coffee, making sure their hands didn’t touch.
‘Thanks.’ He straightened up from the wall with animal grace. Her tummy did a funny little kind of hop, skip and jump.
‘Would you like a biscuit or a piece of cake with that?’ After refusing the offer of a meal—especially as he had mentioned he hadn’t eaten and was starving—she felt politeness necessitated the offer. Besides which, her stomach was rumbling and demanding food—another moment and he’d hear it.
‘What kind of cake? It’s not the remains of the chocolate one, is it?’ he asked, straight-faced.
He was laughing at her, even if it didn’t show. For answer, Blossom opened the cupboard and brought out Melissa’s cake tins, leaving the one containing the other half of the chocolate gateau on the shelf. His loss. She’d picked up a morsel from the table when she had been helping the twins clear up, and it was absolutely delicious. Mind you, the fruit cake and fat ginger-and-walnut cake the other tins held looked fantastic too, but then everything Melissa made was wonderful.
‘I’ll have a piece of that one, please.’ He pointed to the ginger-and-walnut cake. ‘Did you make these?’
Any of her friends would have collapsed with laughter if they had heard that. ‘I don’t cook,’ she said briefly. ‘These are ones Melissa’s baked.’ She cut a generous portion, placed it on one of Melissa’s china teaplates and handed it to him before doing the same for herself. ‘Shall we go through to the sitting room?’ Funny, but since he had appeared in the doorway the kitchen seemed to have shrunk to half its size and was far too intimate. ‘We can sit in comfort in there.’
Once in the sitting room, Zak seated himself on the sofa. Blossom made sure she took the armchair furthest away from it. After taking a king-size bite of cake, he pronounced it delicious and then eyed her lazily. ‘So, you don’t cook.’ One black eyebrow quirked. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m sorry?’ He was laughing at her again, she just knew it.
‘Your job—or don’t you work?’ he asked smoothly.
‘Yes, I work.’ He was rattling her, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Drawing in a deep, hidden breath, she told herself to relax before she proffered, ‘I’m a fashion photographer, actually.’ Make of that what you will.
The eyebrow rose higher. ‘Really?’
Yes, really, in spite of my present attire. She forced herself to smile. ‘’Fraid so.’ She took several sips of coffee and then decided to play him at his own game. ‘Do you find that surprising?’ she asked sweetly. Agree if you dare.
‘Yes, I do.’ He eyed her expressionlessly.
This guy took the biscuit, he really did, but he could darn well spell it out. ‘Why is that, Mr Hamilton?’
‘Zak, please.’ He had the gall to smile. ‘No formality.’
That smile. Perfect white teeth. She bet he had never endured the mortification of the braces and dental work which had hampered her teenage years. ‘Why is that, Zak?’ she asked with grim civility. Greg’s income depended on this man.
‘You say you and Melissa are twins, but from what I’ve seen, and more especially from what Greg says, Melissa is the epitome of the contented wife and mother without a career bone in her body. I thought twins were supposed to be the same.’
She stared at him. ‘We’re twins,’ she pointed out. ‘Not clones.’ Why was it men like him always had the sort of wicked, lusciously thick eyelashes women would kill to possess? It gave them an unfair advantage. Dean’s had been an inch long.
‘Point taken.’ He grinned and took another huge bite of Melissa’s yummy cake. ‘This is absolutely fantastic, by the way.’
Blossom silently pondered whether she would have preferred him to say he had been surprised because she looked the exact opposite of anything remotely fashionable. Probably not.
‘So, fashion photography.’ He had finished the cake in record time. ‘Tough field to break into, I’d imagine. Do you work for a studio or fashion house or magazine?’
Blossom shook her head. ‘I’m a freelance photographer; I prefer it that way. And yes, it was tough to get into, and is just as tough to continue in, but I like it. I guess I have a knack of selling my techniques and the pictures I produce, though, that helps. There’s lots of excellent photographers who don’t know how to market their skills.’
He nodded. Settling back on the sofa, he crossed one leg over the other after draining t
he mug of coffee, his arms along the back of the seat. It was a very masculine pose. Blossom ignored the quickening of her heartbeat as grey cloth pulled tight over hard male thighs. She tried to think of something to say to fill the silence and failed miserably, gulping at her coffee instead. Suddenly she wasn’t at all hungry.
‘So.’ The piercing eyes were tight on her face. ‘No husband around?’ He nodded at her left hand, which was devoid of rings.
Blossom felt the question in the pit of her stomach, which was ridiculous. She was well past that stage. Before tonight she hadn’t thought of Dean in days, and when she had it had been with acute loathing. Her voice crisp, she said, ‘No, there’s no husband, and isn’t likely to be. That’s another area Melissa and I differ in.’ She raised her chin a fraction of an inch.
‘Right.’ The blue eyes narrowed. ‘That taken as read, do you fancy going for a drink one evening?’
Surprise robbed Blossom of speech. It was the last thing she’d expected, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. He wasn’t interested in her, surely? He was the sort of man who would definitely go for a certain type—a tall, willowy blonde or vivacious redhead, the sort of female who would cause the conversation to lull whenever they entered a room—and she didn’t fit the bill. She wouldn’t crack any mirrors, admittedly, but she wasn’t particularly tall or small, just average. Her brown hair and eyes were pretty average too. Melissa had been the one to get the looks. At five-feet-ten, with liquid brown eyes and natural ash-blonde hair, her twin was a stunner. Not that Melissa was vain, just the opposite.
Without considering her words, Blossom blurted, ‘Sorry, but I don’t date. I made up my mind years ago that I’m a career girl, and romance and getting to the top in any profession don’t mix. Not for women, at least.’
He straightened slightly. ‘If you’re saying a woman can’t have a love life as well as a top job, I disagree. This is the twenty-first century, not the dark ages.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ She agreed with him, but wasn’t about to say so. The excuse she’d used could very well be the coward’s way out but it had sufficed in the past to put men off. She wasn’t about to bare her soul to any man, especially Greg’s boss. Besides, she had the feeling he was the kind of guy who would be persistent when it came to getting his own way unless he was satisfied there was no chance whatsoever. And there was not. Not with her. The last thing she needed was a Zak type.
‘Another piece of cake?’ The silence was stretching on and becoming uncomfortable. She did so hope he would say no.
‘Thanks, I’d love one.’ He held out his plate. She noticed with a pang of what could have been pique that he wasn’t particularly devastated she was off the menu. He was probably the sort of male who felt compelled to try his luck with any unattached female below a certain age, she thought maliciously. Date them, persuade them to fall for him, and when the challenge was gone move on to the next poor sop. But perhaps she was just being hideously unfair. She knew Dean had soured her. Mind, she doubted Zak Hamilton would go to the trouble some men did to get a woman into bed—he wouldn’t have to, for one thing. Dean had been a head-turner, but Greg’s boss was in a different league altogether. As he very well knew, no doubt.
Becoming aware she was staring at him, Blossom hastily reached for the proferred plate. ‘Another coffee?’ she offered for good measure, feeling a little guilty about her uncharitable thoughts—although they were probably all bang on the mark.
‘Great.’ He settled back against the billowy sofa with every appearance of relaxed enjoyment. ‘And make the cake a big slice, would you? I’m starving.’
Cheeky hound. Blossom smiled frostily. Utterly sure of himself and arrogant with it—just the sort of male she’d walk a mile to avoid. Still, she’d offered seconds now.
Once in the kitchen she made the coffee and cut a generous wedge of cake—not that the other slice had been small, she thought grimly. She looked at the half of cake remaining in the tin, and for a moment was tempted to put that on his plate rather than the slice she’d cut. She resisted. Less because he was Greg’s boss and more because he’d probably eat it quite happily, remaining oblivious to any sarcasm. Giant ego.
Walking through to the sitting room, she silently handed him the plate and mug, deciding the cool, non-speaking approach was the quickest way to get rid of him. No more repartee.
‘Thanks.’ He took the cake with boyish enthusiasm. ‘Your sister is some cook. She didn’t strike me as the sort of woman who would bake her own cake when I met her at Christmas.’
The work do. Blossom had babysat on that occasion too, and she remembered Melissa had looked like every man’s fantasy with bells on in the draped-silk jersey dress with plunging neckline she had worn. Talk about stereotyping! Blossom eyed him severely. ‘My sister is extremely domesticated,’ she said coolly. ‘All Melissa ever wanted from when she was a child was to be a wife and mother, and she does both extremely well.’
‘And you disapprove of that?’ he asked evenly.
‘No, I do not.’ Coolness went out of the window and she glared at him. ‘Of course I don’t. Everyone, man and woman, should follow their own path. We’ve chosen very different ones, that’s all. I wouldn’t dream of expecting Melissa to want what I want. We respect each other as individuals.’
‘Greg’s crazy about her, isn’t he?’
‘She’s crazy about him.’
Zak’s nod was thoughtful. ‘He’s something of a mad professor, but brilliant, quite brilliant. I can see it would suit him to have someone to look after him.’
She couldn’t imagine Zak wanting to be looked after. Blossom sipped at her now-cool coffee as she watched him eat the second slice of cake. It was gone in a few big bites. He ate with relish; she could imagine he was a man who tackled every area of his life with the same unabashed gusto. Something in the pit of her stomach curled, and she lowered her eyes to her empty mug. When she raised them, Zak was looking straight at her.
‘You’re clearly wiped out, I’d better be going,’ he said softly. He stood to his feet. ‘Thanks for the coffee and cake.’
Flustered, Blossom rose a moment later, furious that her cheeks had turned pink when there was no logical reason for it. ‘I’ll let Greg know you called by when he comes home.’
‘Tell him I won’t expect him in until Melissa’s home and feeling herself again while you’re at it,’ he said lazily as she led the way to the front door. ‘There is nothing brewing in the pipeline that can’t keep for a week or two.’
‘Right.’ She nodded. She felt ridiculously out of her depth. What was it about this man that made her feel she’d regressed to the painful teenage years, when she’d been gawky, awkward and tongue-tied? Whatever it was, she could do without it. She opened the front door and stood aside for him to exit the house. Instead he stopped in front of her.
His eyes unfathomable, he murmured, ‘It’s been nice meeting you. Do I take it you’ll be sticking around for a day or two?’
It was a simple question, so why the agitation in her breast? ‘Until I’m not needed,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
‘That won’t prove difficult work-wise?’
She shook her head. ‘As luck would have it, I’ve just finished a pretty extensive spell of work and had promised myself a break.’
‘We might see each other again, then. If anything crops up I need to speak to Greg about.’ He smiled a slow smile.
He was the head of a major electronics firm and he was talking about face-to-face contact? Without pausing to consider how it sounded, she said, ‘Have you got Greg’s mobile number?’
He continued to regard her for another moment before his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Do I take that as a polite way of saying I wouldn’t be welcome?’ he asked mildly.
The pink in her cheeks had turned to a fiery red that would have rivalled a boiled lobster. Her embarrassment wasn’t helped by the fact that he seemed to find her amusing rather
than offensive. ‘Of course not,’ she said tightly. ‘I was just checking you could contact him if you needed to, that’s all.’
‘Just checking.’ Two words, but they carried a huge amount of disbelief.
‘Absolutely.’ She stared straight back into the blue eyes.
‘Right.’ His tone had not changed. He held her gaze for one more eternal moment, and then stepped out of the house and walked towards a low-slung sportscar parked at the side of the pebbled front garden. It was a beauty, an Aston Martin, in a delicate shade of silver grey, gleaming in the summer twilight.
Blossom wondered why she hadn’t noticed it when he had arrived, and wouldn’t admit it was because she’d had eyes for nothing but him. She shut the front door, not waiting to see him drive away, and then stood leaning against it as she strained her ears. There was the sound of a car door shutting, the throb of a powerful engine and then the scrunchy noise of tyres on stone. He was leaving, so why was her heart still thudding?
It was only when all was quiet that she became aware she had been holding her breath. Letting it out in a great sigh, she straightened. That was that. He had gone. Undoubtedly with the impression that Melissa’s twin sister was a cold, hard and somewhat rude career woman without a romantic bone in the whole of her body.
‘And I’m not.’ She spoke aloud into the quiet, slumbering hall where the only sound was the steady ticking of the magnificent antique grandfather clock in the far corner. Was it her imagination, or was it staring at her with a reproachful look on its superior face?
Blossom stuck out her tongue in a manner which belied her thirty-four years, resolving to put Zak Hamilton and his possible opinion of her out of her mind. She had more than enough to cope with as it was in the forseeable future; the whirling dervish that was her nephew would be waking at the crack of dawn, if the weekend she’d babysat Melissa’s children before was anything to go by. And, once Harry was awake, the world had no choice but to follow.
His Christmas Bride Page 2