His Christmas Bride. HELEN BROOKS
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the stools at the breakfast bar, her ears ringing. ‘Have you spoken to her? How is she feeling?’
‘She’s out of it, will be till morning, according to the staff. In spite of that I think I’d like to hang round a bit longer, if that’s OK with you? Can you cope with the kids?’
He sounded so lost and shaken, Blossom’s heart went out to him. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You stay as long as you want. The kids are fine and they’re all asleep. Have you eaten anything?’
‘Eaten?’ he repeated vaguely. ‘Oh, yes, I think so. Some sandwiches. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you in the morning.’ And he put the phone down. Typical Greg.
‘You OK? I heard the phone. Was it the hospital?’
The quiet voice from the kitchen doorway brought Blossom’s head up. Zak was standing there, his blue eyes narrowed. It was a totally inappropriate moment to register that he had to be one of the most handsome men she had ever set eyes on. She gulped, then said, ‘That was Greg. Melissa’s out of Theatre, and everything went well. She’s sleeping off the anaesthetic.’
He nodded. ‘Good. Now I’m going to ask you what you just asked Greg—have you eaten anything?’
She stared at him. ‘It’s been too hectic.’
He nodded again. ‘You look like death warmed up,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’re not going to faint on me, are you?’
He had a nerve. Adrenalin pumped a healthy dose of anger into her wilting limbs. She knew she looked awful, he needn’t rub it in. ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said coldly. ‘Thank you. And I have never fainted in my life.’
It was as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Why don’t you go and have a bath while I order some food in?’ he said in a tone which made it more of an order than a suggestion. ‘I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m starving. What do you prefer—Indian, Chinese, Italian, Thai? My treat. I insist.’
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