His Christmas Bride. HELEN BROOKS
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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 the 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