His Christmas Bride. HELEN BROOKS
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visited the local supermarket and bought a load of convenience foods without the merest shred of remorse. Melissa was going to have to lighten up a bit.
As she drew off the road on reaching the house, and into the pebbled front garden which had been given over solely to parking due to the fact that Greg needed a space the size of a football pitch to park successfully, Blossom saw the silver-grey car parked next to Greg’s people-carrier and groaned softly. Zak Hamilton. Damn it. And she was in her oldest jeans and a cotton jumper that had been washed so often and become so baggy it could pass for a dress. But she had taken the time to apply some mascara that morning and curl the ends of her hair, so that the bob just skimmed her shoulders, having known she was calling in at the supermarket. Overall it was an improvement on the last time they’d met. Not a big one, but something at least. Not that it bothered her what Zak Hamilton thought of her. Not in the least. Not for a second. The very idea!
Ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that was saying nastily, ‘And pigs fly,’ she parked the car and began to lift the bags of shopping out. Along with the little voice she was determined to pay no heed to, her stomach was fluttering about as though it was host to a flock of butterflies. If butterflies came in flocks? She wasn’t sure about that.
‘Hi again.’ The deep, faintly accented voice was behind her.
She straightened up so quickly she heard her neck snap, but it was more the fact that she caught a carrier bag on something sharp in the boot, tearing it so that a can of baked beans dropped on her foot, that brought forth the exclamation of pain. Turning, she saw Zak Hamilton walking towards her.
‘Want some help with all that?’ he offered, waving a hand at the bags round her feet. ‘You look pretty loaded up.’
She would have liked to say no, but as she wasn’t an octopus it would have been rather silly. She forced a smile, wondering if her toe was broken. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely.
‘You’re very welcome.’
As he bent and picked up several of the bags, she caught a whiff of a deliciously sexy and definitely very expensive aftershave. The torn carrier-bag chose that moment to empty itself completely, and in the ensuing scramble for tins and packets of this and that Blossom got control of her breathing. Until she registered Zak crouching down, trousers pulled tight over muscled thighs as he stuffed some of the food into another bag. He was more sexy than any man had the right to be.
‘I thought Melissa cooked everything from scratch.’ He glanced up at her, a packet of cherry bakewells in his hand, and his eyes so piercingly blue their brightness made Blossom blink.
‘She does,’ Blossom said shortly, wishing he would stand up. When he obliged in the next instant she felt sufficiently in control again to add, ‘But I’m in charge for the next few days until she’s feeling a bit better.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘I wonder if they’ll get the kids back to the healthy option once they’ve tasted fish fingers and oven chips.’ He grinned at her, eyebrows raised. ‘What do you think?’
‘The odd meal like that does no harm at all.’ Even to herself she sounded schoolmarmish. ‘They’re quite nutritious.’
‘You know that and I know that, but mother love is a strange force,’ he said gravely.
He was laughing at her—again. The difference was this time she found she was having a job not to smile. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m just the aunty.’ Picking up two bags of her own, she made for the house. There was safety in numbers.
Melissa and Greg were in the sitting room, a tray of coffee and a plate of shortbread fingers on the low oak coffee-table in front of them. Blossom paused at the open door long enough to say, ‘I’m just putting the shopping away,’ before continuing to the kitchen. A cosy foursome? Not on your life.
‘I think I got them out of bed.’
Zak had followed her, and now he dumped his bags on the breakfast bar as she glanced his way. ‘It’s half-past ten, don’t worry about it,’ she said briefly. ‘They’d slept enough.’
‘Greg made the coffee.’ It was faintly plaintive.
There was a message in there somehow, and Blossom raised her eyebrows enquiringly even as she wondered what it was about raven-haired men and pale blue shirts. Killer combination.
‘It’s as weak as dishwater.’ Zak’s eyes were laughing at her.
‘Oh dear.’ That’d teach him to call without warning. ‘I’ll put the shopping away and make some more; the other is probably cold by now, anyway.’ I’m putting shopping away—hint, hint.
He nodded. ‘Want some help?’
Even standing six feet away he was too close for comfort. Not that she thought he was going to try anything. He was far too sophisticated for anything so gauche and clumsy, she knew that. ‘No thanks. I won’t be long.’ Just go before I drop something else. Give me a few minutes to do some deep-breathing exercises.
He didn’t take the hint. Folding his arms, he leant back against the open door and watched her. It was disconcerting to say the least. Having grown up with someone as totally stunning as Melissa, she had never liked being stared at, always assuming she was being compared unfavourably to her twin. Maybe that was why she’d chosen a career behind the camera? Interesting thought, she told herself feverishly. Freud would probably have had the time of his life messing with her head. If he hadn’t been dead for eight decades, that was.
The shopping disposed of in record time—she’d never be able to find anything now—Blossom switched the kettle on and steeled herself to smile and glance at Zak as she said, ‘Shall we join the others? I’ll make the excuse about the coffee and bring the tray out.’
‘OK.’ He made no effort to move. ‘Look, I was thinking, with Melissa home after being away so long—’ he made five days sound like five lifetimes ‘—I’d imagine Greg and her would like some time to themselves in the evening once the kids are in bed. And I should think you could do with a change of scene. How about I take you for a meal somewhere tonight? Just as friends, of course. I understand how things are with you.’ He smiled lazily as though he didn’t care if she came or not.
Blossom stared at him, completely taken aback. ‘But we’re not friends,’ she pointed out gracelessly. ‘We don’t even know each other, at least not properly. You’re just Greg’s boss.’
The smile held, but the temperature dropped several degrees. ‘I’m not just anything,’ he said silkily. ‘Believe me.’
In spite of the smile Blossom knew she had hit him on the raw. ‘I didn’t mean—I wasn’t insinuating…’ She stopped. She had expressed herself incredibly badly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that—’
‘You don’t want to go out with me. Yes, I know. But you must socialise with the male species now and again, surely?’
She was right. She had annoyed him. Dented his ego. She imagined Zak Hamilton hadn’t been turned down before, even on a friendship level. Well, why would he be?
‘Of course, if you feel Melissa’s still too ill…’
‘No, it’s not that.’ What was it with him? He had the hide of a rhinoceros. Surely he knew she didn’t want to go out—no, socialise, she corrected herself with grim humour—with him? But perhaps that was exactly why he was pushing it. Maybe he was one of those men who couldn’t resist a challenge. Not that she had intentionally set herself up as a challenge, but she’d bet her last dollar that was how he was viewing this. She didn’t buy the ‘doing Greg and Melissa a favour’ thing, men like Zak weren’t that philanthropic. Sharks in disguise.
‘So?’ Blue eyes held hers. ‘What, exactly?’
Oh, blow it, it was going to be easier all around to agree to have a meal with him this evening. She hated that she was going to shy away from further confrontation,