His Christmas Bride

by Brooks, Helen

  He continued to look at her searchingly. ‘But I heard fear in your voice,’ he said steadily. ‘And don’t tell me I’m wrong.’

  Fear at her own weakness where he was concerned. She had rejected all suitors in the last couple of years or so with very little effort; none of them had even impinged on her consciousness for more than a brief moment. She didn’t understand what it was about Zak that changed everything, took away any control over her own reactions, but it frightened her to death. She had been a puppet on a string for one man, and once was enough. ‘I told you earlier, I don’t date,’ she managed at last. ‘I don’t want any complications in my life, that’s all.’

  ‘It was a goodnight kiss,’ he repeated softly. ‘Nothing more.’

  To him, maybe. To her it had been much, much more. A reawakening of the feminine side of her which wanted a life other than that of a solitary bed, and breakfast for one. But she knew she wasn’t made for casual affairs or the odd romp in the hay. Some women could give their bodies without their heart being involved, but she couldn’t. It was as simple as that. And as she had no intention of giving her heart away again, now she had managed to put the broken pieces back together, that left her no choice but autonomy.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zak.’ The whirling frenzy in her head caused by his love-making had cleared, and she saw with absolute clarity she had to end this before it started, certainly in her own mind. Maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to see her again—she didn’t know for sure—but that had no relevance in any way. ‘It was a lovely meal and I’ve enjoyed the evening, but I have to go.’

  ‘Do I take that as a covert message that you have no wish to repeat the exercise?’ His voice was cooler now and his eyes held no warmth.

  Blossom looked him straight in the face. ‘You knew how it was before this evening,’ she said flatly. ‘I made it very clear, like I said just now. I don’t say one thing and mean another. I—’

  ‘Don’t date. Yes, I know.’ He paused, running a hand through his hair. ‘But isn’t that open to compromise? You say you enjoyed this evening. So did I, very much. I would like to repeat it. That’s not a crime, is it?’

  She said nothing. There was nothing to say, after all.

  He waited a moment. ‘A career only lasts for so long, Blossom,’ he said quietly. ‘One day, when you’re an old lady and others have taken your place, you’ll regret you are on your own with just a cat for company. And it’ll be too late then.’

  ‘I’m not over-fond of cats.’ Trite, but she couldn’t do this, it was killing her. ‘Goodbye, Zak.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m getting the full story here.’

  She stared at him. Any other man—any other man—would have been long since gone after such a rebuff. What was it with him? ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she prevaricated warily. If he thought she was going to indulge in a heart-on-the-sleeve scenario, he was so wrong. All she wanted was for him to go.

  ‘I think you do.’ He had moved closer somehow, although he hadn’t altered his position by a fraction of an inch. ‘Things don’t add up with you, Blossom White. There’s too many little details that don’t fit the image you’re trying to project. You’re not as tough as you’d like people to believe.’

  ‘I am, actually.’ She glared at him to prove the point.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. ‘I’ve lived in the world of sharks and barracudas on two legs who would sell their own mother to get up the ladder another inch or two. I can recognize men and women with that ruthless streak a mile off, and you don’t have it.’

  ‘You don’t know me at all,’ she said tightly. ‘We’ve only met a few times. We’re virtual strangers.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it.’ He crossed his arms over his chest, his stance suddenly lazy. ‘You tell me you are tough, that the only thing that matters is your career and getting it up another notch—right so far?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She hoped her voice didn’t betray the trembling inside. She willed herself to stand absolutely still.

  ‘And you have no interest in sharing your life with someone? Of considering a future with a partner, children? Bearing in mind, of course, that that doesn’t negate your continuing with your career if you so wish. Millions of women do both.’

  She should never have agreed to go out with him tonight. She had known it all along, so she had no excuse for the mess she had made of things. Forcing the shakiness out of her voice, she said clearly, ‘No, I’ve told you. Quite frankly, it’s not something I would want to put myself through.’ Let him believe the lie, let me be convincing. ‘I’ve seen some of those determined career women desperately trying to juggle home commitments, sick children, a husband who begins to resent the fact he’s called on to help out more than he thinks he should be. They wear themselves to a frazzle, and nothing is done well in the end. Either that or they have a breakdown eventually, trying to be superwoman. It simply isn’t worth it.’

  ‘Now, you see, you tell me that in a very cool and well-thought-out way, but I don’t believe you,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Why do you think that is?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ She stared at him unblinkingly.

  He smiled crookedly. ‘The hell you haven’t,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’d give a great deal to read that mind of yours.’

  This time she had no warning he was going to kiss her. One moment he was surveying her through reflective moonlit eyes, the next she found herself in his arms and moved into a position where the soft fullness of her breasts was pressed against the hard wall of his chest. His mouth was as intoxicating and knowing as before, but this time the fire was there from the start, giving her no time to marshall her defences. The feel of his body as he held her close heightened what his mouth was doing to her senses, the blood surging through her veins in answer to the sensual assault.

  Her heart pounding, she knew she had to object, to pull away, but as each moment intensified the pleasure and delight of being in his arms like this held her captive. Captive and willing.

  And then, with an almost cynical command of himself, Zak lifted his head and moved her out of his arms. She stared at him, her heart beating wildly and her cheeks flushed. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said again, almost coldly, and then turned and walked back to the car.

  She turned, fumbling in her bag for her key, and almost falling into the hall once she had opened the front door. Shutting it, she leant against its support on trembling legs, hearing the car engine gradually fade away into the quiet of the night as he drove away.

  She stood for some time in the quietness of the house, feeling as though she had just escaped some catastrophic disaster. Let that be a lesson to you, she told herself silently when she finally stopped trembling. Play with matches, and ten to one you’ll start a fire, and the normal kind was nothing to the one Zak would be capable of lighting. He was an extraordinary man.

  Slowly she made her way to her room, her head whirling and her mind replaying the last few minutes before he had gone. After getting ready for bed, she found sleep was a million miles away, however. Annoyingly she couldn’t shut down, even though she felt physically tired. Zak was there, dominating her mind, causing her to go over and over the events of the evening until she felt like screaming at her own weakness.

  Annoying man. Irritating man. She turned over in bed, pulling her pillow over her head. But still, quite…extraordinary.

  Chapter 5

  ‘So how did the evening go?’

  When Blossom came down to breakfast the next morning, having overslept—a result of having lain awake until dawn—it was to see a solitary Melissa at the kitchen table.

  ‘Greg’s taken the children to the park,’ her sister continued, pouring Blossom a cup of coffee and sliding it towards her as Blossom sat down. ‘So we’re by ourselves.’

  From somewhere in the depths of her Blossom found she could dredge up a smile. From a child her twin had been transparent, and Blossom had no doubt Greg and the childr
en had been despatched out of the way so Melissa could get the full lowdown on her evening with Zak in peace and quiet. But her sister did love her and have her best interests at heart, and she needed to confide in someone this morning, and who better than her twin?

  Nevertheless, she took several sips of the scalding hot coffee before she said, ‘Depends how you look at it.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Melissa’s big brown eyes narrowed. ‘I knew it. He’s charmed you. He has, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No. Yes. I mean—’ Blossom stopped abruptly. What did she mean? She was darned if she knew. ‘The meal was great, he was great, and he wanted to see me again,’ she said flatly. ‘I said no deal, and we left on…difficult terms.’

  ‘Difficult?’ Melissa popped two slices of bread in the toaster and gave Blossom her full attention again. ‘Difficult as in embarrassing, or difficult meaning a full-scale row?’

  ‘No, nothing like a row.’ Blossom pushed her hair out of her eyes wearily. She’d had about three hours’ sleep and she was shattered. ‘But embarrassing, yes. For me, anyway. For him it was more a matter of proving a point.’

  ‘Proving a point? I don’t understand.’ Melissa frowned.

  ‘It’s a long story.’ And she didn’t come out of it well.

  ‘We’ve got an hour or two.’ The toaster pinged, and Melissa buttered the toast and then pushed the plate towards Blossom along with the marmalade and jam pots. Home-made, of course. ‘Eat that and then we’ll talk. You look awful.’

  Frankness was something she could live without today. She ate the toast slowly, but eventually she couldn’t prevaricate any longer. She could see Melissa was all agog.

  As she put the last morsel in her mouth, Melissa whipped the plate away and leant forward. ‘Right, tell me.’

  So she did, all of it, including her thoughts and emotions.

  When she finished they sat looking at each other in silence for a moment, then Melissa said, ‘Oh, Blossom.’

  The simple way Melissa had said her name brought a lump to Blossom’s throat. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Blossom swallowed the lump. ‘Headcase.’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ said Melissa indignantly. ‘I just wish it was someone more…run of the mill you’d met. Because Zak isn’t, is he? Whatever he is, he isn’t your average man.’

  ‘No. He isn’t,’ Blossom agreed ruefully.

  ‘And, even if you were thinking of seeing him again, which you’re not, it wouldn’t work, would it?’

  ‘No. It wouldn’t.’

  ‘This isn’t helping much, is it?’ Melissa said sadly.

  ‘No. It’s not.’ They stared at each other miserably.

  ‘I feel awful. You’d never have met him if you hadn’t come here to help us out. This is all my fault.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Blossom gave herself a big mental shake and squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘Sooner or later it was on the cards I’d meet someone who would…’

  ‘Rattle your cage?’ Melissa offered helpfully when she struggled for words.

  Blossom didn’t know if she liked the ‘cage’ bit, but she nodded anyway. ‘Exactly. And it’s actually a positive thing. Now I know I’m not open to persuasion, and it’s confirmed everything I’d told myself about remaining single.’

  ‘It has?’ said Melissa miserably. ‘Oh, don’t say that.’

  Blossom grinned. She couldn’t help it. She knew there was nothing her sister would like more than to be an aunty. ‘I don’t want a man in my life, I’m perfectly happy as I am.’ Her gaze didn’t waver as it held Melissa’s. ‘OK? But there is one thing. And this is important to me. Really important.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want you and Greg to promise me you won’t say anything about Dean and what happened—me being married, everything—if Zak should ask. I mean I’m not expecting him to,’ she added hastily. ‘But just in case. It’s far better he thinks I’m a dedicated career woman. Which I am,’ she said as an afterthought. ‘You know that as well as anyone.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Melissa agreed distractedly. ‘But what if Greg lets something slip? You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Make sure he doesn’t,’ Blossom said grimly. ‘I mean it, sis. Drum it in to him before he goes back to work. I mean it’s not as if he’s thick or something, just the opposite.’

  Melissa nodded unconvincingly. It wasn’t reassuring.

  ‘And if—and I’m not expecting he will, far from it, like I said before—Zak wants my telephone number or something like that, Greg will have to make some excuse. No, better still, he can say I’ve made him promise not to give it out.’

  ‘All right.’ Melissa sighed deeply. Looking into Blossom’s eyes, she said vehemently, ‘I never thought I could hate anyone like I hate Dean. I never did like him, you know, but I hate him now.’

  ‘Don’t waste your energy. He isn’t worth it.’ And for the first time since the divorce Blossom realised she meant every word. Dean was history.

  Blossom returned to her flat in London five days later, and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Zak Hamilton in that time. Which was fine. Exactly how she wanted it. She told herself this several times a day once she was home. It was all part of the exercise in purging herself of the self-pity which had crept in after the disastrous evening with Zak.

  It didn’t matter that she had been the perfectly innocent one in her marriage break-up, who had taken all the hurt and grief, she told herself firmly. The loss of self-confidence, the humiliation, the damage to her self-esteem—she couldn’t dwell on those for ever. People suffered much worse and lived to fight another day. As she had.

  And, she affirmed over and over again, she had much to be thankful for. Her photography skills were in more demand than ever, she had no financial worries, she was young and healthy and her own person. She was answerable to no one, and that had definite advantages. She could please herself in what she did and when she did it: take the jobs she liked, refuse those she didn’t. Travel or stay at home. Be up at the crack of dawn at weekends or stay in bed all day. The list was endless. Positively endless.

  After a week she didn’t have to repeat the list quite so rigorously before she felt like getting up in the morning. After two weeks she barely went through it at all, and by the time a month had passed she was back to her old self.

  Almost. Annoyingly she found, however strong and positive she was in the day, her dreams seemed to have a mind of their own, populated by tall, dark shadows and achingly half-remembered sensations. She was forever chasing something unobtainable in them, searching, reaching out to she knew not what. Or perhaps she did, she thought in her more honest moments. Whatever, she was determined to get the victory of the night hours too. It was just a matter of time. She had thought she would die when Dean had betrayed her, but time had worked a healing she would have thought impossible in the early days.

  The middle of August found the country basking in a heatwave. Every lunchtime, and in the humid warm evenings, the London parks were full of folk relishing the hot weather, the exotic smell of suntan lotion competing with the dust and fumes of baking-dry streets. Air conditioning was the new must-have.

  It was now five weeks since Blossom had returned to the capital and she had worked like a Trojan every day, including weekends. She told herself it was because she loved her job, and the stimulus it gave her, added to which you were only as good as your last picture, and it didn’t do to rest on one’s laurels in the fashion world. All of which was perfectly true. What she didn’t choose to do was to delve any further into her need for constant activity to fill every waking moment of every day. No more personal witch-hunts for the present.

  This particular evening, as she walked the last few yards from the tube to her flat in a large terraced house in Mayfair, she had to admit to herself she was glad it was a Friday night, and that the weekend stretched before her with nothing more important to do than eat and sleep. She hadn’t been doing much of either lately, although it hadn’t been all bad; she
had lost that persistent spare tyre which had been with her since Christmas.

  ‘Hello, Blossom.’ The male voice was very deep, and the slight accent carried the husky edge she remembered.

  Blossom turned to face Zak slowly; her thought processes seemed to have frozen. The hard-boned face was expressionless and he didn’t move from his stance against the wall of a neighbouring house. She realised with a little shock of surprise she must have walked straight past him. ‘Hello,’ she said at last.

  ‘You’re a hard woman to find.’ He straightened, his hands in his pockets. ‘A regular female Scarlet Pimpernel.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She tried to sound disdainful.

  ‘Greg couldn’t be persuaded to give me your number, and you’re ex-directory. But of course you know that.’

  She stared at him. She had gone ex-directory in the aftermath of Dean leaving, when she had reverted to her maiden name. She hadn’t wanted any of his friends or colleagues phoning her, and she used her mobile ninety per cent of the time anyway. ‘Greg was doing what I asked him to,’ she said flatly.

  ‘I know.’ He smiled. ‘I’m impressed by his loyalty.’

  As before he was expensively dressed, but this time in a short-sleeved shirt and casual cotton trousers. The clothes didn’t deflect the tangible masculine aura that sat on the big frame one iota. But then nothing could. It was part of him.

  Blossom swallowed hard. ‘Why are you here, Zak?’

  The black brows rose cynically. It was very sexy. ‘You know why I’m here, Blossom.’

  ‘Really?’ She prayed she was projecting coolness and composure, but she could feel her cheeks burning and she doubted it. She couldn’t remember ever blushing before she’d met Zak.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ His nod and amused, glittering eyes emphasised he, on the other hand, was perfectly in control of himself. ‘Unfinished business. I think that describes it, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I don’t think so. As I recall it, we were quite finished.’